


Ghosts in Shorts

by Marsalias



Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Gen, One Shot Collection, also some of these are on tumblr, chapter 6 is related to will-o-the-wisp adventures, prompt work, some character death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:35:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 59
Words: 39,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23367043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marsalias/pseuds/Marsalias
Summary: A collection of one-shots of various lengths and various genres.  Most are quite short.Now playing: Decapitation.
Comments: 431
Kudos: 671





	1. Floof

Jazz opened the door with her hip and struggled to the kitchen. She heaved the grocery bags up onto the counter with a sigh of relief. Usually Mom did the shopping, but she and Dad had been holed up in the lab lately, and there wasn't any food in the house. Or there hadn't been, before Jazz had gone shopping.

She put the groceries away, and intending to rest for a couple hours after such _strenuous_ activity, made her way to the living room. That's when she saw Danny, sprawled out on the couch, fast asleep. Jazz smiled, then, as a thought came to her, bit her lip.

She shouldn't. Danny didn't get enough sleep as it was, and he wouldn't be happy if she woke him. On the other hand, it wasn't likely that he would wake up. He looked dead to the world, pun intended. It wasn't like he was having a nightmare, either, so it was unlikely that he'd panic and try to smack her, either.

As quietly as she could, Jazz approached the couch. Then she bent down and patted Danny's head, ruffling his hair.

"Floof, floof," she whispered. "Cute little floof."

Satisfied, Jazz turned and left. There was a book she wanted to read in her room.

A couple seconds later, Danny sat up, blinking in sleepy confusion. "What was _that?"_


	2. White

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny is pale.

Danny smiled at the sunshine streaming through his window and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. It looked like it was finally going to be warm enough for him to wear shorts and short sleeved shirts outside without his mom, or, more likely, Jazz, getting on his case. It was a Saturday, too. Perfect. It would have been even more perfect if he hadn't been woken up by ghosts three times last night, but you couldn't have everything.

Still smiling, Danny rolled out of bed and opened his dresser. It wasn't like temperature changes, for warmer or cooler, affected him much anymore, but Danny was ready for a change. Sweaters were comforting, but shorts were freedom.

_Freedom._

Once dressed, Danny bounced down the stairs. He was meeting up with Sam and Tucker in the park for lunch, and he had slept straight through breakfast. He was supposed to bring something. What was lunch-like in the house, currently? Bread. Bread was good. Nutella. Peanut butter. What else? Cookies. Were ginger snaps vegan? Eh, Tucker would eat them if they weren't. He could take the oranges, too. No one would miss the oranges. Well, Jazz might, but his parents wouldn't.

He found a bag to put his spoils in, and, shouting that he was leaving, ran out.

He found Sam and Tucker sitting under their usual tree, chilling on a blanket. "Hi guys!" he said, cheerfully.

They looked up. Then Sam fell backwards, clutching her eyes. Tucker followed suit a moment later.

"Oh my _gosh,"_ howled Sam.

"What?" said Danny, panicking just a little bit. "What? What's wrong? Sam? Tuck?" He looked down at himself, then behind himself. Had they seen something?

"I'm blind!" said Sam.

"What?!"

Then Tucker burst out laughing. "Your legs, man."

"My-?" Danny looked down again. "My _legs?_ What's wrong with my legs?" asked Danny, slightly hurt.

"They're so _white,"_ gasped Sam, miraculously recovering from her 'blindness.' "Jeez, Danny, you have to warn us before you show up looking like that."

"They aren't _that_ white," protested Danny.

"I've seen people at the Skulk and Lurk that are tanner than your legs."

"Dudes, I've sheets of printer paper tanner than Danny's legs."

"You've seen my legs before."

"Yeah, at night," said Tucker. "When you're... You know. Not under the sun."

"Can you say 'blinding?'"

"I hate you both," grumbled Danny. He sat down on the blanket. "Give me your chips."


	3. Loop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny discovers the joys of recursive joys of recursive joys of recursive joys of...

The portal opened up without warning, dumping the ghost right on the kitchen table and ruining Danny's after-school snack. It closed immediately thereafter, disappearing into the stained ceiling. Danny was already reaching for a thermos, gearing up for a fight, when the ghost's appearance finally caught up to him.

"Wh-"

"I'm not Amorpho!" interrupted the ghost.

"Yeah? So why are you wearing my face?" Danny knew that there were ghosts other than Amorpho who could shapeshift, but he didn't know them by name.

"I'm not!" said the ghost, hands thrown out to the sides, crouching on the other side of the table. "It's a loop. A time loop. And you had better make it a _stable_ time loop, because I don't want to make Clockwork deal with another paradox involving me, okay?" The ghost ran gloved hands through snowy hair, and, with a flash of light, turned into Danny's doppelganger. "Come on, dude. Ah heck, um, you don't believe me. Heck what did he, uh, what did I say next? I said... Three green, two red, a pink, three orange, and two blue. And a purple."

"What?" said Danny, thoroughly nonplussed.

"The gummies," said the other Danny, pointing at Danny's snack where it laid on the floor. "In the bag. Those are the colors."

"... You're trying to prove that you're from the future based on the colors of the gummies in that bag."

"Look, I'm not from all that far in the future. Like, thirty minutes, tops. And don't lie, that's totally something that you would do. I know, because I'm you and I'm doing it."

"I guess," said Danny, trying to keep both the ghost and the gummy packet in his field of vision.

"Dude, just pick it up. I don't know how much time we have here."

"Shouldn't you?"

"I don't know, should I? What part of me looks like an expert on time travel? The part that looks like you, or the part that looks like you?"

Okay, that sounded more like Danny. He grabbed the packet with his telekinesis.

The other Danny groaned. "I keep forgetting that I can do that."

Danny scoffed. "If it's only been half an hour-"

"Give me a break. I'm panicking here. Come on open it."

"How many of each did you say it was again?"

"Three green, two red, a pink, three orange, two blue, and a purple."

Danny tore the bag open. "Heck," he said, "you're right. How do I fix this?"

"Just go to the Ghost Zone and fly towards Elysium. The portal will eat you before you know it."

"Okay," said Danny, but he hesitated.

"Look, dude, if I am Amorpho, you can come back and beat me up. Just go, before the portal decides not to show up, or something."

"Okay," said Danny, finally going down the stairs to the lab.

Danny, standing in the kitchen, sighed and picked up the pack of gummies. "Finally," he said.


	4. Dimidiate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimidiate  
> archaic : to halve or reduce to the half

It was extremely lucky that Jack Fenton did not notice that, as he turned, energetic, to go up the stairs, he swept the business end of the Fenton Ghost Catcher through his son. His son, being Danny Fenton, also known as Phantom, a ghost-human hybrid, was split in two by the net, and lay on the floor, shocked, for a good minute.

Why did these things _always_ happen to him?

His human half abruptly burst into tears.

Phantom was up and at his (his own?) side in under a second, racking his brain for what he had been thinking of right before he went through the Ghost Catcher. When he (they?) had experimented with it before, his thoughts and intentions immediately before usually determined, or at least affected, the results. What would make his human half suddenly cry?

"What's wrong?" he asked, wincing as his voice echoed off the flat surfaces of the lab. That hurt his ears.

"They _hate_ us so much," whispered the human. But then he sat up and dried his tears on his sleeves.

Oh, yes. That would have been on his (their?) mind, what with what Jack had been saying. Phantom, however, was ambivalent about the whole thing. Ugh. He hoped that he wasn't following the 'ghosts have no emotions' stereotype.

The thought lacked feeling, even indignation was absent. Great. He could barely muster annoyance.

Then Fenton started giggling. "Your face looks funny," he said, still whispering.

"It is your face, too, you know."

Fenton gasped, shock racing across his features. "You're right." Then, "Oh my gosh, I'm an emotional trainwreck. How are you not freaking out?"

"I don't think I can," said Phantom, standing. "Come on, we've got to go get the Ghost Catcher away from Dad."

"Wait," said Fenton, also standing, "your face-"

"What about my face?"

"You're bruised." Fenton reached out and up to touch Phantom.

Phantom jerked back, hissing at the pain the brief contact had brought him. Oh, that couldn't be good. Looked at his hands, and removed a glove before experimentally pressing down on his palm. He frowned when it, too, bruised.

"Oh," said his other half, immediately understanding the implication. "That's not good."

"No, it isn't. Let's hurry up and get that thing."

"Wh- Why don't you overshadow me?"

"Hm?"

"Overshadow me, and go invisibly through the ghost catcher? That, that should work, right? And that, that way, you won't, um..." He trailed off. "S-sorry! I'm sorry. It was a dumb idea, I shouldn't have said anything I-" He sniffled.

Phantom stared. How did he deal with this. "No... It's a good idea. Just, are you sure? The other time, I think we got really mad, or something, right?"

Fenton nodded. "Do it," he said.

.

.

.

Danny flopped down on his bed, thoroughly exhausted, but in one piece. That had been interesting. Horrible, but interesting. He was still off balance from the experience of, once again, being split in two. It was interesting to know that one possible split was emotionally unstable Fenton and physically unstable Phantom. It was horrible to realize that the Ghost Catcher could render him almost completely useless.

He sighed. He wasn't in the mood to do his homework now.


	5. Tail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How does a ghostly tail work, anyway?

Danny cautiously checked each room in the house. He _should_ be the only one home right now, Jazz should be out with a study group, his parents should be out setting up ghost detectors at the warehouses the Box Ghost liked so much, but considering what he was about to do, it was a good idea to check. With each empty room, his confidence grew. Having double checked the lab, Danny was satisfied.

He was home alone.

Not wanting to waste any more time, Danny transformed and flew straight to the bathroom. He did not return to human form, but instead, briefly, examined his reflection. It was, at the moment, the reflection of a ghost. White hair, green eyes, glow, an almost indiscernible blue-green cast to his skin, despite its tan. A faint scar licked up the side of his face, the only visible sign of his death. It was a reflection he had grown used to over the past few months, though he had yet to figure out how it all worked.

Well. He wasn't going to gain any sudden insights by staring into his own eyes.

He lifted his chin, and searched for the zipper of his hazmat suit. Finding it, he pulled it down, decisively. He stripped out of the suit then, gloves, boots and all, leaving him in his underwear, a pair of briefs and a singlet. He took off those as well, leaving all of his ghostly clothes to sublimate into ectoplasmic mist on the floor.

The full extent of his death scar was revealed now, a winding, splitting, lightning vine that connected the palm of his left hand to the sole of his right foot. He had seen it before. It wasn't what he was interested in right now.

Right now, he was staring at his legs. They were there, fully articulated. He had all his toes, all his toenails. He checked his fingers, his hands. They had all the bits he had come to expect. He even had fingerprints. He lifted one foot, relying on his natural, ghostly buoyancy to keep him in the air. He had toe-prints, too. Interestingly, both his fingernails and toenails were quite a bit neater than they were when he was human. They were very even, very regular, short and smooth. He didn't have any hanging cuticles, either, which was odd. He almost always had a cuticle or a chipped nail. Still, there wasn't really anything missing. Visually, he had all of the important bits, including, yeah, the important bits. Even the faint bruise he'd gotten on his knee from Dash shoving him into his locker and slamming the door was there.

He planted his hands on either side of his ribs, and dragged them down, noting the placement of bone, of muscle, of skin, down to his knees. He straightened again, and, with a sense of slight foreboding, formed his legs into his ghostly tail. It was a good deal more disturbing to watch skin, muscle, bone, and other... anatomy merge into a single mass than it was to watch his jumpsuit do the same thing.

His scar, rather than vanishing, or being broken up into segments, wrapped entirely around his tail, tapering off at the end.

He watched his tail flick back and forth for a couple of minutes. He could feel it, of course. It looked very strange like this. Everything south of his bellybutton had sort of... gone away. At the beginning, after his bellybutton, it was quite solid, but as it got closer to its end, it became steadily more misty, more transparent. He ran his hands down his sides again. He could detect the remnants of hip bones, and associated muscles, and the skin there felt mostly like skin, but past that, things became... Soft. Velvety. Almost plush. By the time he got to the end of his tail, it felt like he was running his hands over a cross between the tail of a very fluffy, very soft cat, and a cloud of mist.

The very end of his tail wrapped reflexively around his curious fingers, which he could see clearly through the transparent limb.

"Weird," he said, finally.


	6. Remora

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can be taken as part of Mortified or my series on will-o-the-wisps, I guess.

The will-o-the-wisp cooed in Danny's ear. He giggled.

"Okay! Okay! That tickles!" he protested, leaning away from the adventurous little ghost. It's cousins (Danny hadn't quite worked out how family groups worked for wisps) peeked out shyly from behind leaves and within knot holes. They were usually more outgoing, but it was broad daylight. The wisps preferred the night.

Danny swung off his backpack, and unzipped it to pull out a bag of caramel popcorn. He pulled off the tab, and unraveled the plastic. The wisp was vibrating in excitement. Danny removed a handful of popcorn, and offered it up.

The wisp drifted down and engulfed a single piece of popcorn, humming happily. The other wisps floated over one by one. Danny tried to make sure that each wisp got at least one piece of popcorn. He might have also taken a piece or two for himself.

The first wisp (Danny thought that its name might translate as Flies-Quickly-Through-Leaves, but he wasn't sure, and he couldn't quite manage the thrill, or the color change, to say it properly.) flew back up to rest on Danny's ear. Then it made a faint inquisitive noise, and drifted upwards to brush against Danny's temple.

"Hm? Do I have something stuck up there?" He rubbed his hand over the offending area and frowned as it came away with flakes of blood and dirt. "Oh," he said. "It's just leftovers from my last fight." He ran a hand through his hair, and suppressed a grimace. He hadn't taken a shower in a while. His hair was kind of greasy and dirty. Actually, that could be used to describe his entire body. He hadn't had a lot of time for hygiene lately.

He sighed.

The wisp whistles sharply, in a _hey,_ _over here!_ way. The wisps converged on Danny, each of them lisping gently over his skin. Danny froze.

The wisps were largely harmless, and very friendly, but Danny's unique physiology made him uniquely vulnerable to them. They didn't mean to trouble Danny, but they didn't always realize that what they were doing affected Danny negatively. Since the last... incident, the wisps had settled on radiating pure ectoenergy and low-key contentment. That mix didn't make him hyper, depressed, or otherwise put him in an altered mental state. It just energized him, as it was supposed to.

But this was different. This was something new. He didn't know how to feel about it.

It was like they were kissing him, and the were very fuzzy and ticklish. Eventually, Danny couldn't help but laugh helplessly. Then they started to card through his hair, and he began to pur. Danny wasn't yet comfortable with his tendency to pur when he was happy. It was an inhuman reaction. Jazz, Sam, and Tucker thought it was cute, which helped, but, well, feelings didn't disappear at a moment's notice.

What the wisps were doing wasn't hurting, though, so he stayed still. Mostly still. Sometimes they would surprise him into giggles. Slowly, he started to relax. After a while, they finished whatever it was they were doing, and gathered around Danny like piles of glowing pillows.

Danny sighed, and laid down on top of them. They chimed and jingled. Danny rubbed an eye, frowned in confusion, then extended the rub to the rest of his face and hair. He turned his attention to his clothes. He was clean.

"Huh," he said. Well, Clockwork had compared the wisps to remora, cleaner fish, when he was first explaining them to Danny. "Thank you."


	7. Teeth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny has some pointy teeth.

"You eat differently when you're Phantom," observed Sam.

Danny paused to consider that, lowering the half-eaten cherry from his blue-tinted lips. "Yeah," he said. "Probably." He shrugged, and took another delicate bite out of the cherry.

"What do you mean?" mumbled Tucker from around his absolutely massive bite of sandwich.

The three of them were sitting in the Specter Speeder, taking a break from exploring the Ghost Zone to eat lunch. It had been Sam's turn to pack the lunch, and she had filled up the cooler with a variety of vegetarian options, with an emphasis of fresh fruit.

Tucker had, of course, supplemented this with a meat-packed sandwich. Well, as long as Sam didn't have to deal with it, she didn't really care. Not anymore. That didn't mean that Sam wouldn't argue about it, however.

"When he's Fenton," started Sam, "he eats a lot like you. No offense, Danny."

"None taken."

"Hey," complained Tucker, with difficulty. Just about the entire sandwich was inside his mouth now.

"But when you're Phantom," continued Sam, "you're neater. You take smaller bites. You're a little slower. You eat as much, though."

"That makes sense," said Danny. "I mean, my teeth are different. You guys know that."

"Sure," said Tucker, having forced down the remainder of his sandwich. "But are they that different?"

Danny blinked slowly, then smiled, and opened his mouth wide. Impossibly wide. Wide enough that his teeth were very nearly all on the same, vertical, plane.

"Dude, that's creepy."

"Eh," said Danny.

It was creepy, even by Sam's standards, but it was impossible to look away from.

Danny's ghost form looked remarkably human from the outside, but even looking this far in underscored that it was not. Danny's lips, his gums, and the tip of his tongue were dull, muted pink, but after a centimeter or two, that color became threaded through with purples. By his throat, his mouth was swirls of pastel blues and faint teals.

That didn't touch on his teeth.

"Jeez," said Sam, "how many teeth do you even have?"

"Erhy-hoo."

"No you don't."

"You can understand what he said?" asked Tucker.

"I hoo. Eheyoh ooe."

"You do not have thirty-two teeth," said Sam, counting. "That number includes wisdom teeth, which you don't get until you're older." His canines, she noticed, while not being outright vampire fangs like Vlad's, were very sharp, as were his bicuspids. They were all very white, and very straight. "Or- heck. You do. How do you have that many?"

Danny closed his mouth with a snap. "My wisdom teeth came in fast," he said, and shrugged. "It apparently runs in the family. Jazz had to have her wisdom teeth out when she was fifteen."

"So it isn't even a ghost thing," said Tucker.

Danny shrugged again. "Them being _sharp_ is," he said. "Not the wisdom teeth. The other ones. The wisdom teeth being sharp would be awful. I bite my cheek enough as it is."

"I still don't think they're _that_ different," said Tucker.

"Trust me, it feels a _lot_ different when it's in your mouth. What happened to the rest of the cherries?"

"You ate them," said Sam.

"Oh," said Danny, looking crushed.

Sam couldn't suppress a snicker. After a requisite glare, Danny gave Sam a sheepish smile, revealing a couple of those sharp, ghostly teeth.

"Okay, I'm being silly. Not as silly as Tucker, though."

"Hey!"


	8. Johnny and the Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How did Johnny and Shadow meet?

Johnny was beginning to deeply regret splitting up with Kitty-

\- That was splitting up _physically,_ not romantically, he would never split up with her romantically-

\- not permanently, anyway.

What had he been thinking about?

He pulled up hard on the handlebars of his motorcycle, narrowly dodging the baton-blast of one of Walker's goons.

That's right. He was running from the police. He flipped the bird over his shoulder. They weren't even _real_ police. Jerks.

He hoped Kitty had gotten away safely. She probably had. Her power was actually better at throwing off pursuit than Johnny's. One kiss, and, poof! The lucky stiff (could a ghost be a stiff?) was gone, tossed all the way across the Zone.

Hence the regret. Johnny just _had_ to be the hero, and lead the cops away. He was such an idiot. Kitty was probably going to have to bail him out, or, more likely, break him out, since they didn't have any money, or anything worth trade (except for Johnny's bike, and that was probably going to get wrecked).

(Probably going to get wrecked, because he kept forgetting to look out for floating mountains, like that one.)

Oh sh-!

Johnny's narrow escape was not replicated by his three closest pursuers. Sadly, he had far more than three pursuers.

He needed a way to lose these clowns!

It was really too bad he hadn't been smart enough to drive towards a part of the Zone he knew. Instead, he, a complete moron, was completely lost.

Kitty had probably gone somewhere she knew. Heck, she was probably back in their lair, wondering where in the Realms he had gone!

It was times like these that Johnny really wished he had, like, a partner. A right hand guy. Kitty was great. Perfect! His best friend, this side of the great divide or the other. And she could fight like anyone, which was a great perk, as far as Johnny was concerned. But she wasn't a guy.

Johnny got up over the rim of a larger island, and touched down. There were trees here, great, towering, dark pines. He could hide under them, lose his tails, provided he didn't piss off whoever, or whatever, lived here.

Too bad Johnny could've had a phD in pissing people off, if hadn't kicked the bucket. If people gave phDs for that kind of thing. Which they didn't.

He glanced up an back, over his shoulder, trying to see if he was still being followed. He was. Actually, he seemed to have attracted even more cops. Damn.

He looked forward just in time to crash his bike.

Johnny tumbled. Only his instinctive flight saved him from cracking his head against the ground, a tree, a couple rocks, and now he was rolling downhill, head over heels. Gravity had changed. The local rules didn't like flying. That happened sometimes. Johnny always hated it when it did.

He came to rest at the bottom of a steep, rocky, ravine.

He sat up, and picked bits of gravel and twig out of his face. He'd had worse crashes.

(Particularly the one that had killed him.)

Well, no matter how bad the crash was, his bike was gone. He was going to have to hoof it, which was _so_ not his style.

He got up and looked around, trying to figure out which direction would be his best bet, and did a double take when he got to his shadow. Now, Johnny wasn't a genius, not even close, but considering where the light was coming from, and how much of it there was, his shadow looked kind of... Big. And dark. And sharp edged. And sort of... in the wrong place.

He shook his head. Not currently his problem.

Without flight, he wasn't going to be able to get up the sides of the ravine, so he picked a direction and started walking down it. Hopefully, Walker's goons wouldn't find him here, because he'd be stuck. He'd have to be quiet. Some of those jerks had sharp ears. It hadn't been an issue when he had his bike, he could outrun them, but not like this. Not on foot. Not in this stupid hole.

This sucked.

"So, just me and my shadow, huh?" he muttered, nervously. "That's fine, that's fine. M'shadow's the only one that always got my back." Most of his life, he'd been alone, one way or the other. Then he'd met Kitty, and-

He whirled. He could have sworn he'd seen something move out of the corner of his eye, but there wasn't anything there.

"Freaking creepy place." Johnny took a step back, and slipped on a rock. He fell, starting a small, but loud, avalanche. Luckily, it wasn't enough to bury him. He got up.

... And heard voices.

He hissed under his breath, and started to sprint down the ravine. Maybe if he could find a place to climb out-

Too late! A pair of Walker's goons leaned down over the rim of the ravine, leveling their guns at Johnny. He backtracked, but two more goons peered into the ravine from that direction.

"Surrender!" barked one of them.

"Uh," said Johnny.

Very suddenly, a tree branch fell on one of the goons. She stumbled, and shot her baton- but it wasn't pointed at Johnny anymore. It was pointed at her fellow goon.

The baton went off, hitting and, as per the design of the strange weapons, binding, the goon. _His_ weapon went off in turn, still pointed in Johnny's general direction, but Johny was quick to duck, and the blast hit the ravine wall behind him, causing a small avalanche that just barely missed Johnny. The other two goons weren't so lucky. The ravine wall collapsed underneath them, half-burying them in rubble.

This left just the first goon. She quickly retrained her weapon on Johnny, who raised his hands, not in surrender, but to shoot a pair of ghost rays from his hands. Now, Johnny wasn't very good at ghost rays, he'd never been able to put enough power into them to do real damage, but he could do them. Sorta.

The guard jerked back as Johnny's rays hit her, and then shrieked as a giant shadow monster rose up out of the ground flung her away, over the tops of the trees.

After a beat of stunned disbelief, Johnny stumbled backward, cursing. The shadow monster (ghost?) twisted towards Johnny, ruby red eyes glittering.

Then it shrunk, receeding into... Johnny's shadow. Huh.

Now Johnny wasn't the brightest ghost in the Zone, but he could put two and two together, and, Ancients, but he could work with this!


	9. Nights Like This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of an attack by Spectra.

Sometimes, when Danny was flying high and alone in the night air over Amity Park, he wondered.

When the stars were out, he wondered about them. About what secrets they held. About what they had seen. He wondered about their long lives, and the planets that orbited them. He wondered if any living planets circled them, if there were intelligences out there looking back and wondering the same thing.

When the moon shone he wondered about it. About when humans would once again set foot on its surface, and if he could be one of the lucky ones to do it.

When he could spot Mars, or Jupiter, or one of the other planets, he wondered much the same things.

But when the sky was clouded over and he'd been plagued by more ghosts than could be squeezed into a _Christmas Carol_ marathon, well. He wondered about different things.

It was a cloudy night, and blood dripped from a shallow cut in his side. Except it wasn't blood. It was ectoplasm.

On nights like this, Danny wondered what he was.

.

The cut wasn't bad. Danny had gotten worse. Much worse. Much, much worse. It hardly hurt. It certainly didn't compare to dying.

_But._

Danny really should clean it and bandage it. He should go home, and get the first aid kit. That had been his intention when he'd flown away from the scene of the fight. But he'd stopped, staring at the cut.

He was bleeding green. He always did that when he was a ghost. It shouldn't feel like a surprise. It shouldn't feel like a punch in the stomach.

_But._

The ghost he'd fought tonight had been Spectra.

.

_How could anyone ever care about you? Nobody knows you. You don't know yourself. You don't even know what you are._ _Pretending to be half-human... You're a freak, and deluded along with it. You've seen your parents' research. You've heard what they say. There's no way for a human to have ghost powers._

_And there's no way for a ghost to be good._

.

As always, there was enough truth in what she said that the rest was still digging its sinister way into his brain. Or whatever the ghostly equivalent was. Just like his fingers were digging into the cut in his side. It hurt. It grounded him. His parents also said that ghosts couldn't feel pain.

So there.

He shuddered, and continued his flight home.

It was on nights like this that Danny wondered if he was really half-alive...

... or just a ghost who thought he was.


	10. Stockades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anyone remember the dungeon underneath the Fentons' lab? Well...

Danny crept down the stairs into the lab to empty the thermos into the Ghost Zone. Normally, he would have phased in invisibly, but his parents had updated the security system again, and he didn't want to set it off. Especially not when one of them might be down there.

His parents weren't upstairs, anyway, even if he didn't hear the usual clinks, whirs, buzzes, bangs, and explosions from the lab. They might have gone out. Danny hadn't really been paying attention, and that was before he had to leave to fight Skulker for the billionth time.

Ancients, but Skulker was a lunatic. Who else would skin a ghost? A _person?_ It was so gross. And creepy.

But his parents weren't in the lab, freeing Danny to quickly cross the room and empty the thermos of the day's catch. Even if they were annoying and sort of evil, they didn't deserve to be trapped in the thermos indefinitely. That would be cruel.

He sighed as the indicator light on the thermos blinked to empty, and removed it from its receptacle. At the least, he'd be seeing the Box Ghost again tomorrow. Boxy had been going crazy lately. Something about not being able to find the Lunch Lady. Well, she wasn't in Amity Park, as far as Danny knew. She was probably just avoiding Boxy.

He started to trudge back across the room, but paused halfway. What was that sound? Where was it coming from?

After a bit of investigation, and playing 'hot and cold' with the noise, Danny determined it was coming from the trap door leading down to the Fenton Stockades. Dang. He had half-forgotten they even had those. When was the last time he'd even been down there? The first time Ember attacked? That sounded about right.

Were his parents down there? What would they even be doing? He made a face as he inadvertently remembered a website Dash had forcibly shown him. Gross. No way. He didn't just think that. If he looked- No, he didn't want to know. Nope.

Danny turned, fully intending to run upstairs and pour bleach into his ears to clean his brain of that _disgusting_ image, when he heard a distinctly ghostly vocalization. Ghost words echoed and warped in ways human ones couldn't match.

There was a ghost down there. Well. This was a _great_ start to a horror story. A ghost, in a room full of torture equipment once used by his Dad's crazy witch hunting ancestors. Wonderful. Perfect. It was probably down there making the iron maiden grow teeth and arms, and making the rack float around and grow spikes. As if any of that needed to be more horrifying.

Resigned, Danny opened the trap door and started down the stairs, mentally preparing for a fight. With his luck, the ghost was a witch angry at some ancestor of his. Well, news flash. _He'd_ been tortured by an ancestor, too. He didn't want to deal with this. Why was his family so-?

His thoughts cut off as he tried to process the scene in front of him. He couldn't. Not fully. It was like a conceptual collage, only one thing clear at a time. Green splatters on the floor. The Lunch Lady. The torture chair, leather straps glowing green. He didn't know they did that. His parents, wearing smocks and more protective gear than he had ever seen them in. The specimen jar full of whole fingernails. The larger specimen jar holding a dress, apron, and other folded fabric. The cuts. The dripping ectoplasm. The glistening and medieval tools.

He tried to take a step back, but his heel caught on the stair, and he fell backward with a crash.

His parents turned to him, goggles flashing in the overhead lights. Their protective gear made them seem alien. Insect-like. Reptilian.

(Or was it their actions that did that?)

"Danny, sweetie, what are you doing down here?" asked Maddie. "You know the stockades are off limits! You could get hurt."

She sounded concerned. How could she sound concerned when she was doing- When she was-

"He's just being a Fenton, Mads!" boomed Jack. "Curiosity before caution! That's our motto! Right next to 'Destroy all ghosts!' Probably wanted to see what we were doing. Right, son?"

"R-right," said Danny, unable to disguise the tremor in his voice. "I- I was just curious. Just-" his voice cracked, "wondering where you were! I'm going to- to go back upstairs, now, since, haha, it's- it's dangerous down here. Right?" He scrambled to his feet and fled.

"Be careful in the lab!" Maddie called after him.

Danny slammed the trap door behind him, and ran directly to the sink, retching all his muscles trembling.

The Lunch Lady- She was-

(His worst nightmare, just a few floors beneath his bed.)

How long had this been going on?

How was he going to fix this?


	11. Deserve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was from a tumblr prompt by dp-marvel94 via danphanwritingprompts. I wanted to share it with you guys on here as well.

"Danny!" Jazz held the ectogun in front of her, trying not to flinch at the red-eyed gaze of the person in front of her. "Listen to me. You don't want to do this!"

"Yes, I do," grit out the warped form in front of her. Danny's voice popped and buzzed with supernatural static. "Get out of the way."

"No," said Jazz, holding her ground. She didn't know what this weapon did. She didn't even know if it was functional. It was just the first weapon she had grabbed from the floor when she rushed into the ruined lab.

"They _deserve_ it!" shrieked the ghost of her brother, ectoplasm spattering the floor as the lab's few remaining beakers broke.

Jazz risked a glance behind her, at her unconscious parents. They had been thrown into wall. "What-?"

"They killed her!" Incandescent rage briefly took a back seat to grief and confusion. Danny's form wavered again.

He wasn't talking about Sam. Sam was the one who had called, who had warned Jazz Danny was coming, right before Jazz heard the crash.

"She only just got away," said Danny, eyes briefly flickering green, "and she melted in my arms and she was gone!"

"Ellie," breathed Jazz.

"They _tortured_ her. They _deserve_ to die."

"I'm," Jazz licked her lips and blinked back tears, "I'm not saying they don't, but this isn't about them. It's about _you._ Can you come back from doing this?"

"I don't care!"

"I do!" shouted Jazz. "And you- You _promised_ me! You promised me, no matter what, you wouldn't become like _him_!"

Danny's shape snapped back into solidity. Tan skin, white, fluffy hair, black and white jumpsuit streaked with ectoplasm, stricken green eyes. He was shaking.

Jazz lowered the weapon, and stepped towards him. "Danny-"

He tipped back his head and screamed. Jazz slammed her hands over her ears and squeezed her eyes shut, trying and failing to block out the awful sound.

When she looked up again, Danny was gone.


	12. Experiment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another tumblr prompt.

"Look at me. You are not an experiment."

The boy on the other side of the arena showed no sign of having heard her. He did not raise his gaze from his bare feet.

Sam tried again. "You aren't a slave. You don't have to do what they tell you. You don't have to do this."

The speakers set into the arena ceiling crackled to life, making her jump. "Experiment D-5541. Begin extermination procedures."

Danny's head snapped up, eyes flaring red.

Sam blinked.

He was directly in front of her, a spike of ectoplasm an inch from her eye.

"Danny?" she said, her eyes flicking between his eyes and the glowing collar around his neck.

"Experiment D-5541, finish the procedure. Exterminate the subject," ordered the voice over the speaker.

Danny didn't so much as breathe. From this distance, Sam could see how thin he was, how pale, how dirty, beneath his ghostly aura. There were bruises and puncture wounds around his wrists.

A long sigh made the speaker crackle. "For the log entry, please note that, once again, experiment D-5541 refuses to carry out extermination procedures on a human being. This is the conclusion of trial 48. Hopefully team two will have better luck with conditioning." The last was added almost as an afterthought. "Sedating subjects."

As before, the arena filled with a white gas that soon had Sam's eyes fluttering closed.

All she could think about was how much closer the spike had been this time.


	13. Awake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt from gabbypie64

It began with a buzzing.

Valerie ignored it. Her suit always buzzed a little, the electronics humming away at a thousand esoteric tasks. She had never examined it too closely. Never look a gift horse in the mouth, as her grandma used to say.

True, the buzzing was a little more insistent than it usually was, a little louder, a little more distracting, but that was probably just because Valerie was tired. She hadn't gotten a good night's sleep in ages, thanks to the ghost kid.

The ghost kid was the reason for her sleeplessness. Not that the buzzing in her ear was mirrored by a buzzing under her skin, a nervous energy that never seemed to go away, especially at night.

She ignored it.

And it went away.

Valerie was able to sleep again. Her grades went back up. When she went to fight Phantom (or whatever that stupid ghost was calling himself now), it was when she was rested, prepared, and had him at a disadvantage. When he just finished fighting another ghost, for instance. When she fought other ghosts, it was on her own terms.

Like it always had been. Of course.

Valerie slept deeply, the sleep of the just.

She began to dream.

They started out normally, like they always had. They were dreams of going to school, or flying, of talking to her mother, of living in her old house. But, always, before she woke, they would warp into something else.

First, she'd find herself in her suit, all slick red armor and danger, hoverboard purring beneath her feat even when she was walking. Then, her perspective would shift, subtly but surely, her motions no longer purposeful, but guided, a long hand on her spine, herself, her being, hollow, only a surface.

She ignored them. They were just dreams.

They didn't go away, but they stopped being memorable.

She couldn't ignore the sleepwalking.

Her father caught her at it as he came home from his shift. She hadn't been doing anything, just slowly pacing back and forth across the living room, eyes closed.

She couldn't ignore it, but she could get treatment. Her sleepwalking episodes stopped.

At least, she thought they had. Apparently, she had been wrong, because she just woke up standing on her hoverboard, far over Amity Park, Phantom floating in front of her, a contemplative look on his face.

She tried to move. She couldn't. It was like her suit had become a cage around her.

"She is awake," said a robotic voice just behind her ear.

"Good," said Phantom. "Hi, Valerie."

"What did you do to me?" she demanded, trying not to let her fear show in her voice.

He rolled his eyes. "Right, because it's always my fault. Not. Your suit has developed a personality, by the way. Tends to happen to things with a lot of ectoplasm in them. We're negotiating. I thought you'd like to be a part of that, but if you'd prefer to sleep…"

Valerie swore.

"Anyway, where were we?" asked Phantom, seemingly unconcerned.

"I need a host to give me structure," stated the robotic voice. Her suit?

"Right. That. But you've been carting her body around at night for weeks. You can't keep doing that without her permission."

"You have done similar things."

"Mitigating circumstances," said Phantom. "The survival of myself and others was on the line."

"My survival is on the line. She will seek to destroy me if I do not intervene, as she has done to you."

"Yeah," said Phantom. "Anyway. So that's about where we are. I do have a couple people who wouldn't mind sharing body space in exchange for cool powers, their words not mine, but we don't know how compatible they'll be, so, I'm turning the decision over to you."

"What?" This was too much for Valerie to cope with five minutes from waking up.

"Do you want to keep the current arrangement with, um, Red, here, or do you want to have your body to yourself and Red can go to someone else? With the addition that Red has to tell you when they're taking you on night walks.

"Th- This- This is a ghost, isn't it?" said Valerie. "You have a ghost overshadowing me! That's why I can't move! Get out of me!"

Phantom sighed, and pulled something cubic from his belt. "Well. I guess that's your answer, then, Red. Remember what we discussed?"

Something that wasn't her nodded her head, then her suit was coming off, leaving her shivering on her hoverboard in her pajamas. Then the hoverboard was gone, and she was falling, and she couldn't call it back, where-?

Phantom caught her. A minute later she was being set down on the roof of her apartment complex.

"What did you do to me?" she demanded, shoving him away.

Phantom's gaze was vaguely disappointed. He didn't answer her as he flew away.


	14. Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another prompt from dp-marvel94!

"The monster you're afraid of turning into doesn't exist."

"What do you mean?" demanded Danny, angry and loud, his voice echoing off the far walls of the main hall of Clockwork's lair. "You're the one who showed me!" His breath caught in his throat, and he fought back a sob. "He's _imprisoned_ here!"

Clockwork shook his head, slowly, sadly, and Danny hated how much pity he saw in those ancient eyes. "No, Daniel. He isn't. Let me show you."

Danny didn't want to follow. He wanted to rant and rage and argue. He wanted Clockwork to give him a solution. Any solution.

But he did follow. Because if he followed, Clockwork could be wrong, and then Clockwork would see that Danny was right and he would do something.

Anything.

Clockwork led him through a small door on the side of the hall and down a long, dark spiral staircase. Danny hadn't known Clockwork's lair went down so far, so deep.

"Why do you have stairs?" asked Danny. "You can fly."

"In case I find myself without my present abilities," said Clockwork. "As you have found yourself, in the past. One does well to prepare for the future."

"That's what I'm _trying_ to do," said Danny. He fiddled with his remaining glove. He had used the other one for… It didn't matter now. It would stay gone until he could go human again and reset his ghost form.

Clockwork hummed noncommittally as they reached the bottom of the stair and started off down a narrow stone hallway. There was only one door, a heavy, barred one, all the way at the end of the hall, illuminated by a dim, flickering light.

The hairs on the back of Danny's neck stood on end. If Clockwork had been shooting for ominous, he had certainly managed it.

Clockwork glided forward, smoothly, and Danny hurried to keep up with him, his ghostly tail flicking in frustration. With a gesture, Clockwork raised the bar on the door, and it creaked open, revealing a spotlighted plinth. On the plinth was a Fenton thermos.

Danny swallowed, unwilling to go any closer, as if he might be contaminated by its mere presence.

Clockwork had no such compunctions. He picked up the the thermos, and held it out to Danny.

"Read it, Daniel," he said.

"Read what?" asked Danny, choosing instead to look at Clockwork.

Clockwork lifted the thermos again. "What does it say?" he asked as Danny flinched back.

Biting his lip, drawing blood with his newly-grown fangs, Danny looked down. The thermos was in pristine condition. The screen on the side read 'EMPTY.'

"I- I don't understand," said Danny, shaking.

"The timeline has changed," said Clockwork. "He never existed."

"But-" said Danny. "But he _has_ to, I-" The tears he'd been suppressing began to leak from his eyes. "You'll still bring them back, right? You can still bring them back?"

"I am sorry, Daniel, but I could only save them before because their deaths were a result of a paradox. This was always going to happen."

Danny sank to the floor. "But- But that's not _fair._ I tried so hard and… I can't…"

"I know," said Clockwork, patting Danny's shoulder.

"I can't do this without them," said Danny, feeling small.

"You can," said Clockwork, setting the thermos down by Danny's knee, the metal clinking against the stone floor. "You will."

"I don't know what to do," said Danny, scrubbing tears off his face. "Everyone is gone. The- The- Even the _house_ is gone. There's just a hole in the ground and the portal. I don't have anything, anymore."

Clockwork bent his arm around Danny's shoulders. "You have time."


	15. Enlightenment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another tumblr prompt, this one from browa123!

Parchment crinkled under the fingers of Maddie's gloves, the sound echoing weirdly off the vaulted ceiling of the ruin she had discovered floating only thirty minutes from the Fenton Portal. She wore a Fenton Ecto-Exploration suit, designed to protect a human being from all the dangers of the Ghost Zone, a tether and hose tying her back to the Specter Speeder.

Already, this first foray into the Ghost Zone had yielded more data than she and Jack had gotten in all the time before opening the portal, and more data than they recorded in a week back in Amity Park, waiting for the ghosts to show up on their own terms. Minutes after entering, they had encountered whole swarms of lesser ghosts, little creatures that barely showed up on their scanners, and to their surprise, a vast variety of ghostly architecture.

True, most of the buildings were ruins, and there were far too many stairs and free-floating doors to be at all logical for entities that could fly, but their presence had been entirely unexpected and brought up whole new lines of inquiry.

Who built these structures? Why? How? Had humans once lived here? Because ghosts didn't have the focus, the organization, or the intelligence to do something like this. Perhaps they were stolen. She and Jack had researched occurrences of people and vehicles being spirited away, most notably in places like Bermuda. But for all these buildings to suffer a similar state…

Maddie had to investigate. That meant leaving the relatively safe confines of the Speeder. Jack had objected, of course, not to the concept of entering one of the buildings, but to Maddie being the one to go. But she had talked him over to her point of view. She was the better fighter, after all, and less likely to set off any traps the ghosts had left in the buildings.

She had lucked out, too, in their choice of buildings. This appeared to be an abandoned library, or some kind of record repository, full of scrolls and bound books.

There were too many for her to take all of them, sadly. The ecto-preservation box she had brought for samples would only fit a few of the thick, dusty tomes- and she had to put them in the box. There was no telling how quickly they would decay if exposed to normal, real-world air.

She picked the five books that looked best preserved, with leathery covers and silver-edged pages. The scrolls appeared to be more fragile, even if she could probably fit more of them in the box.

Giving the room one last glance and snapping one last picture with her Fenton Ecto-Imager, she turned, and followed her tether back to the Speeder.

.

They kept the books in a sealed glass containment unit, using attached gloves to reach in and manipulate the pages, as if they were handling lethal chemicals or disease-carrying vials. For all they knew, the books could be just as dangerous. Even something as innocuous as a musical instrument could become a weapon in a ghost's hands.

Still, the main reason for their precautions was to preserve the books. The pages were fragile enough, and scans showed that the paper and parchment they were made of had a high ectoplasm content; a high enough content that, were the ectoplasm in them to disperse, the pages might crumble entirely.

Maddie and Jack painstakingly took pictures of every page. They were written, and beautifully illuminated, in a language neither of them were familiar with, forcing them to send the work of translating them to a linguist friend.

Jack literally held his breath, waiting for the linguist to call them back. Maddie was less optimistic about the response time. Jocelyn was a friend, yes, had been a friend since college, but Maddie was well aware of the reputation she and Jack had built up over the years. They would be lucky if Jocelyn looked over the images this month, let alone within five minutes of-

The phone rang.

Maddie hit the speaker button. "Hello, this is Fentonworks, Dr. Fenton speaking."

"Maddie, this is Jocelyn. Where did you get these books?"

"The Ghost Zone!" said Jack, excitedly.

Jocelyn laughed. "Right, right, don't tell me, that's fine. Anyway, four of them look like they're in Voynich script-"

"So you can translate them?" asked Maddie, excitedly.

"Afraid not! Before you showed me these, I thought there was only one example of that in the world, and no one has been able to translate it. You should get these all tested for authenticity, by the way. If any of them are legit, you have a fortune on your hands. Anyway. The fifth one seems to be mostly in Gaelic script, with some notes in Latin and Ogham. Very interesting. Subject matter seems to be ghosts from what I can tell, which, well, I'm not surprised, exactly."

"So you can translate that one?" Maddie asked, eagerly. She didn't want the trip to come to nothing.

"Well, some of it. I'm not super familiar with Irish languages. I'll have to ask my colleagues, and they'll really want some kind of confirmation about the books before they spend too much time on it. You know?"

"That's reasonable," said Maddie, even as she winced. She'd have to follow up with Jocelyn on what kind of 'confirmation' translators would want.

"Anyway, from what I can tell just by looking, this is a treatise of some kind on the 'half-dead,' compiled by a couple different authors over a long period of time. The Latin notes read like clarifications, or personal anecdotes, but there are also a lot of references to the god Janus. There's a bit much to go over on the phone."

"You can email us," said Maddie.

"How about I drive down to Amity? I'll bring my notes, and I really want to hear where you got these."

"We told you! The Ghost Zone!"

"You always were a joker, Jack. Good to see life hasn't changed you. So, do you guys mind if I come?"

"Not at all," said Maddie.

.

Jocelyn regarded the portal with guarded disbelief. "I can't believe it. I really can't. No one is going to believe this." She paused. "Were those books written by ghosts?"

"Unlikely," said Maddie. "Ghosts lack the mental capacity. It's more likely that these were stolen from people who were researching ghosts."

"Right, right, that makes sense, I suppose. Anyway, I think I've put together a good summary of what's in that book. I had to call in some favors, by the way, so you owe me. Also, you'll have to pay to get the whole thing done, sorry." She put her bags on a clean counter top, and gazed longingly at the books under the glass. "Man, I hope you can get more of those. Wouldn't it be wild to translate the Voyinch manuscript?"

"Well, lets work on the one we have now," said Maddie.

.

By the time Jocelyn left, Maddie was obsessed.

The book was about _half-ghosts,_ a species of ghost that _had_ to be either entirely mythical or, at least, extinct in the modern day. Humans simply couldn't have ghost powers. The science didn't work.

But the stories were fascinating. The descriptions of how 'half-ghosts' developed and acted were detailed. The logic of the ancient authors compelling.

As far as the translated portions went, in any case.

It left Maddie wondering: What if half-ghosts _were_ possible?

How would one be made?

She and Jack spent hours pouring over the notes Jocelyn had left, staying up all night. Her visit hadn't been nearly long enough to go over everything.

Maddie felt a little guilty. She knew her children, Jazz and Danny, worried over them when they got so invested in a project like this, especially a project so likely to come to nothing. Danny, in particular, had come down several times to bring them snacks or peek over their shoulders.

Maddie and Jack, feeling guilty, and also tired, had relented towards dinnertime, and ordered pizza for the family. Then, they had gathered on the couch to watch a movie. Jack fell asleep right away, but Maddie was too wired.

"So," said Danny, his eyes fixed blankly on a dialogue-free action sequence. "What _are_ you guys working on, down there? You've been busy since yesterday."

"Well," said Maddie, "you remember that we took our first trip into the Ghost Zone a few days ago?"

"Yeah," said Danny.

"We found those books there, and Jocelyn translated some parts of one of them for us. We think they're field observations made by medieval ghost hunters."

Skepticism and exasperation flitted across Danny's features, but quickly vanished. Maddie pushed away her disappointment. Danny and Jazz had never been very enthusiastic about their work, and she despaired of what would happen to Fentonworks when she and Jack got too old to keep it up.

Still. He was showing interest now, even if it was only to be polite.

"Okay," said Danny. "What are you guys going to do with them?" He rubbed his hands back and forth on the couch upholstery.

"We were planning on running a few tests to see if the claims made in them are feasible."

Danny winced.

"Don't worry, we'll make sure everything we do is perfectly safe," said Maddie, patting his knee.

"You're going to be playing Mythbusters with ghosts," said Danny, dryly. "I really doubt that's going to be _safe."_

The characters in the movie started talking again.

.

Danny had a point, Maddie had to admit. On the other hand, it wasn't as if she were testing these things on herself, and Jack was around to double-check all her calculations.

"… manuscript retrieved from the Ghost Zone," said Maddie, clearly, into her recorder, "suggests that natural portals formed an important role in the formation of the first generation of so-called 'half-ghosts' or 'doorway spirits.' The exact role is unclear at this point in our translation efforts, however, based on our own interaction with the Fenton Portal, and the fact that we do not exhibit the abilities of 'half-ghosts,' we believe the most likely cause is being 'caught' in a forming portal. If, of course, there's any validity to the manuscript's claims in the first place."

Maddie paused, adjusting some of the controls in front of her, making sure everything was in place. Jack was taking care of the mice.

"We are going to test this theory with mice. Based on our current understanding of portal physics, our current expectation is that the mice will simply die. However, we ignore the wisdom of the past at our own risk. Are you ready, Jack?"

"Just about!" said Jack, fitting the last mouse into a harness to keep it from escaping the opening portal. He jogged over to stand with Maddie behind the blast shield.

Maddie nodded, checked the cameras, and then pulled the lever to bring the portal gun into alignment. They both pulled on their tinted goggles.

"Will you do the honors, dear?" she asked Jack, nodding at the firing button.

"You betcha! Geronimo!"

The lab was filled with a flash of light, making both of them wince, and then everything went dark.

"I think we tripped a circuit breaker, Mads," said Jack, sheepishly.

"It happens," said Maddie. "I hope the kids weren't in the shower…" She tapped the night-vision switch on her goggles and walked over to the breaker box. She flipped the culprit switch. "There we go. Now, let's take a look at the mi-" She blinked at the wreck of the mice cages. "They're gone!"

They would have to revise their theories. None of them had predicted the mice being _vaporized._

_._

"I think I know why our experiment with the mice didn't work," said Jack.

"Oh?" said Maddie. She was working on preparing the Speeder for another expedition.

"No Obsession. To get a halfa, we need something that would have become a ghost on death anyway."

Maddie frowned. "Halfa?"

"Easier than saying 'half-ghost,'" explained Jack.

"You may have a point," said Maddie. "But that just means we'll never be able to create a halfa in the lab. We can't predict what will make a ghost."

"That's true," said Jack. " _But,_ we agreed before, halfas would be able to blend in with the living pretty well, right? Their human brains would override most of their ghostly impulses?"

"Except for a slight tendency towards violent and possessive behavior, yes," said Maddie. "What are you getting at?"

"Well, natural portals still form all the time! And there are more humans than there have ever been. Halfas could be all around us and we'd never even know it! What we need is a way to _detect_ them."

"You're right," said Maddie. "But how?"

"Well, in theory they'd have ectosignatures, like ghosts, right? So, we could use our regular scanners, and if a human showed up as a ghost on them, then they'd be a halfa!"

"But, Jack, our scanners never work properly. They keep latching on to Danny, remember? Ever since…" Maddie's brow furrowed. "Ever since… his accident with the portal."

Jack had gone an odd, pasty color. "You don't think-?"

"No," said Maddie, firmly. "It isn't possible."

"But if it _was?"_

Maddie looked up, as if she could see through metal, concrete, wood, laminate, carpet, and drywall, all the way to Danny's room on the second floor. "If it was… We'd just have to ask him, wouldn't we?"


	16. Flare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm breaking the rules and doing the same prompt twice. No one can stop me.

"The monster you're afraid of turning into doesn't exist."

Maddie's gloves (white, not black, why couldn't they be black) twitched around the grip and stock of the ectogun she was assembling. It would be powerful. Powerful enough to vaporize a newly-formed ghost.

"Danny," she said, turning to face her son (if she could still call him that), "you shouldn't be down here."

"Neither should you," said Danny.

"I know. That's what I'm trying to fix."

Danny flinched. "That's not what I meant."

"I know, sweetie, but it's already remarkable that I retained so much of myself. It's only a matter of time before I-" She broke off, shaking her head. "The last thing I can do for you is make sure I don't become a problem you three have to take care of."

"Then go to the Ghost Zone!" said Danny. "Wait and see. Don't do _this._ This is crazy!"

Maddie sighed (the motion was as strange as it was familiar, now that she didn't need to breathe). "Danny-"

"You won't become a monster, or go crazy, or anything that you and Dad talk about! I _know_ you won't."

"You can't know that."

"I can!"

"How?" snapped Maddie, forcing down her temper (her temper that was so much more volatile than in life).

"Because I've been dead for two years!"

If Maddie's heart hadn't been still for the last week, it would have stopped when she saw her son's eyes flare green.


	17. Tongue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from ectolights on tumblr!

"Watch your tongue, little King, or it might get cut off."

"Better than having it grow forked," shot back Danny as he tried to squirm away from the snakelike ghost.

The ghost hissed. "Are you sure that won't happen anyway?" it asked. "You lie so much. How can you even tell what is true?" The ghost's forked tongue flicked from between its lips, lisping against Danny's cheek.

Danny flinched back, banging his head against the back of the tall wooden chair he was currently bound to. The ghost's coils shifted across Danny's lap and around his waist, their grip on his ankles tightened.

"At least my breath smells better than yours."

The ghost laughed breathlessly. "Little king," it cooed. "Do you think your iron crown will protect you?"

"I'm not a king," said Danny, struggling, "and I don't have a crown."

He didn't know what this ghost's problem was. A couple of hours ago, it had seemed like any other chimeric, human-animal mashup ghost that came to Amity Park: a cocktail of violence, misplaced anger, and superpowers. Like he would with any other ghost attacking Amity Park, Danny had come out to fight it. The fight had even been normal.

Right up until the ghost had bitten him and he found himself losing consciousness mid-punch.

He woke up here, chained to this chair, under an apple tree. The place wasn't familiar to him. He wasn't even sure if he was in the Ghost Zone or not.

Worse, he couldn't access his powers.

So, he did what any teenage superhero of questionable mortality and self-preservation skills would do: He mouthed off.

"No crown? We'll have to change that, now, won't we?" The ghost trailed a clawed hand over Danny's face, then slithered away into the surrounding foliage.

Danny heaved a sigh of relief and bent to examine the chains around his wrists and lower arms. Where and how did they connect, and how could he get out of them?

They must connect behind or under the chair, he decided, or at least out of sight. They were also very snug, so, sadly, he couldn't see a way to pull out of them.

Well, this was bad.

He looked around, trying to see if there was anything nearby that could help him. All he could see, though, were the branches of the large tree behind him, the clear area around it, and the circle of shrubby greenery around that.

Yep. Still bad.

Maybe he could break the chair if he pulled hard enough? It seemed pretty sturdy, but, well, he didn't have anything else he could try. He might as well give it a go.

All to soon, the snakelike ghost was back, a crude black crown clutched in one of its humanlike hands, a complicated array of straps and metal bits tossed over its scaly shoulder.

Danny did not like the look of either.

"Your crown, your small majesty," said the ghost, holding the piece of metal up so that he could see it.

The top came to a set of jagged, unevenly sized and spaced. On the outer sides, oddly enough, rough rings had been welded on. The work as a whole was lumpy and unattractive.

"I think it suits you," said the ghost. It was disturbing how sincere it sounded. "With this people will come from all corners to bow at your feet."

"I think you need your eyes checked," said Danny. "Or your head. Either one."

The ghost smiled, and the expression looked sick on its face. Almost delicately, it placed the crown on Danny's head. Then, lighting fast, it shoved the other thing, the thing made mostly of straps, into Danny's mouth.

Danny tried to bite down on the ghost's hand, but part of the thing was wedged in between his back teeth, and he couldn't. Then the ghost had its hands out, and was hooking the straps to the rings on the crown. At least, Danny assumed that's what it was doing. He couldn't see something on top of his head.

As the ghost fiddled with the apparatus, attaching straps to the crown, each other, and even the chair, Danny's jaw was forced open wider and wider until it was stretched to just shy of painful.

The ghost leaned back, admiring its handiwork, as Danny glared up at it, breathing heavily.

"I did tell you," it said. "Be careful, little king, or you'll lose your tongue." It reached into Danny's mouth and ran a claw across the back of Danny's tongue. Danny flinched and gagged, but his range of motion was even more limited than before and he couldn't get away. "Be glad I didn't cut it off entirely. I could still do that, you know."

The snake ghost stayed there for another few minutes, just staring down at Danny. Drool started to creep over Danny's lower lip and drip down his chin.

"I really do like you better this way. I think everyone else will, too." It tilted its head and smiled, fangs jutting out over its lower lips. "One last gift, before I go."

Without any further warning, the ghost lunged forward and bit Danny.

.

It must have been hours later when Danny woke up, because his mouth was sore and tasted absolutely foul, but the light was the same, and he wasn't hungry or thirsty, or in need of a bathroom.

In conclusion, this must be somewhere in the Ghost Zone. Wonderful.

He shifted, looking around the little clearing. It looked like he was alone, but his field of view wasn't great. He tried accessing his ghost powers again. Nothing.

His shirt was also soaked with drool, which was… not great.

His jaw spasmed against the gag, and he moaned at the resulting pain.

Something rustled in the bushes. Danny went tense. There was little he could do against an enemy right now, but at least he could brace himself.

About a dozen small, troll-like ghosts emerged from the shrubbery, carrying baskets. They caught sight of him, froze for a moment, and started muttering among themselves in a ghost language Danny didn't know. They turned back to him, eyes wide and worshipful.

As one, they knelt.

.

As was pathetically typical, Danny had no idea what was going on.

Alright, that wasn't entirely true. The little troll ghosts, and there were many more than the dozen or so he had first seen, had apparently decided to worship him. They left various offerings around his feet and decorated him with jewelry and flowers. Why? He didn't know.

Sadly, their idea of worship did not appear to include freeing him from his chains. Oh, no. Instead, they added _more_ chains. More decorative ones than the originals, sure, but still chains.

This sucked. On so many levels.

The trolls' current activity involved a lot of dancing, singing, and genuflecting. Danny really could have done without any of it.

Then, miracle of miracles, the Specter Speeder crashed into the clearing. Jazz jumped out, wearing the Peeler, and the trolls scattered. Performing at least two unnecessary but admittedly cool rolls, Jazz made her way to Danny, and started cutting at the chains with a Fenton Definitely-Not-A-Lightsaber.

Sam stood by the Speeder doors, a truly enormous gun in her hand. Tucker was visible at the wheel.

The main chains gone, Danny pried himself up from the chair and stumbled towards the Speeder, Jazz's hand on his back. As soon as they were aboard, Tucker took off.

With Jazz's help he was able to get the gag and crown off.

"How did you find me?" he croaked. "I didn't see the boo-merang."

"Followed a rumor that a snake guy sold a king to the troll tribes on the black market," said Sam. "Apparently they worship kings, or something, but prefer them to be captive. I didn't really get it. Ghosts are weird."

"Oh," said Danny, taking a bottle of water from Jazz. "Guess they got scammed, then. I'm not a king."

Sam gave him an odd look. "I'm not sure they did."


	18. Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a Reign Storm AU. I'm thinking of doing a longer fic with this same general concept, so tell me what you think!

Danny pushed down on the lid of the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep, one eye on the Ecto-Skeleton's power level counter as it ticked ever closer to zero. Every time Pariah Dark pounded on the inside of the lid, he felt it vibrate up his arms. He was growing weaker. He couldn't hold on for much longer.

Where the heck was Vlad with the key?

The lid bounced up under the force of a particularly strong blow, and Danny pushed it back down, panting. It took him more effort than before. Something wet ran down his back and his face. Not sweat- He didn't sweat, not as a ghost, and Danny tried not to think about stories his parents had told him about ghosts destabilizing and melting.

The counter was at 1%. The only thing that gave him the strength to keep pushing the lid down was sheer desperation.

He choked out a sob as one of his arms buckled. Where was Vlad? He was supposed to come with the key! Danny should have already won. He'd gotten Pariah Dark into the Sarcophagus. He was holding it closed. Those were supposed to be his victory conditions.

His vision blurred through tears.

(He didn't want to die again.)

The counter ticked to 0.

.

Pariah's next slam against the Sarcophagus lid met no resistance. It slammed back with a crash that resounded around the throne room that had been, for so many years, his crypt. With a roar, he emerged. Never again would he be imprisoned in such a way!

He saw his crown lying on the floor, kicked to a corner in the fight, and, with a gesture, summoned it to himself and placed it on his head once again. Power strummed through his skin, making him whole once more.

But what had happened to the young warrior who had challenged him?

Ah, there he was, collapsed next to the Sarcophagus, trembling within the metal prison his magic armor had become. His aura flickered like a guttering candle.

Pariah had destroyed enough ghosts in his afterlife to know the boy was fading. What a waste. The boy was strong and clever. In Pariah's court he would have gone far.

Perhaps he still would. Pariah knew a trick or two.

He reached through the metal armor and pulled free the limp child. His flesh was soft beneath Pariah's hands, malleable.

With a gentleness that would have surprised his many enemies, Pariah Dark turned the child over, shaping him, molding him. The child instinctively and unconsciously accepted the bargain Pariah offered. Stability and continued existence in return for compliance with Pariah's wishes. It was an exchange child ghosts were predisposed to make.

When Pariah was done, a much smaller, more delicate ghost rested in the palm of his hand. He smiled as the little ghost curled in on itself and yawned, displaying small fangs. The boy put one hand in his mouth and the other on one of his newly grown horns, face scrunching in sleep.

Pariah had always wanted a son.


	19. Enlightenment 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to chapter 15: Enlightenment

Danny lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He knew it was only a matter of time. His parents were, well, _eccentric,_ but they weren’t stupid. They’d put two and two together before too long. 

Maybe he should do something rather that just… lying here. Waiting. Passive. 

Like his homework. He always complained about not having enough time to do his homework, yet here he was, wasting time contemplating the secrets of the ceiling. 

Resolved to be productive, Danny sat up and reached for his homework. 

He was, of course, interrupted by a knock on his door. 

“Danny? Sweetheart? Can we come in?”

He let his hand fall back into his lap. Typical. 

“Sure,” said Danny. 

The door creaked open, and his parents filed in, both uncharacteristically grim. 

Oh. Yep. It was time. They had found out. 

Danny took a shaky breath. “So,” he said, smiling. Because a smile meant he was at ease, right? “What’s up?”

“We were wondering,” said Maddie, “if we could talk to you about your accident with the portal.”

Danny forced down what would have been a nervous and suspicious laugh. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Is it about those experiments you’ve been running recently? The ones with the books from the Ghost Zone?” The books that Danny understood far better than his parents, because he could read the languages they were written in. All of them. 

Because, with the exception of the one written in Irish and Latin, they were written by half-ghosts. 

He’d been so excited, when he first saw them. He’d tried to sneak down to lab whenever his parents hadn’t been there to flip through the books. Knowing that Vlad _wasn’t_ the first half-ghost was a massive weight off his chest. He didn’t have to worry that he would slowly be corrupted and turn evil, like Vlad did.

But then he’d realized what Jack and Maddie’s near-obsessive research on the subject of half-ghosts meant for him, and that weight had piled right back on.

“Yes,” said Maddie. “It is. We were wondering, did you ever experience any…” she paused, clearly unsure how to phrase her question, “side effects?”

Danny chewed on his lip. “What happens,” he said, “if I say yes?”

“We’ll try to figure out why,” said Jack. 

“What if I know why?” asked Danny. “What if… I’m okay with it, and I don’t want you to try to fix me?”

“What do you mean?” asked Maddie, her voice trembling. 

“I mean… I mean I know that half-ghosts are possible. I mean, I…” he faltered. 

“You mean, you are one,” said Maddie. 

“Yeah,” said Danny, watching both his parents warily, ready to flick invisible and phase through the floor at a moment’s notice. 

“So,” said Maddie, “so, what is it like? What- What happened to you, Danny?”

“It’s,” said Danny, swallowing, “not bad. I feel mostly the same,” he decided to hold off on explaining his more ghostly impulses, “I just have, you know, some ghost powers.” 

Said ghost powers decided to kick in at that moment, picking up on his nerves. His outline wavered before Danny got hold of himself again. 

Maddie nodded, once, tightly. “Your grades?”

Danny made a face. “You’re not thinking that this damaged my brain or anything, are you?” He decided to wait to mention his core, his ghostly brain, floating in his chest, and that he was pretty sure he was smarter than he had been before. “The only reason my grades are down is because the ghosts like to come fight me, and I can’t do that in class.”

“Of course not,” said Maddie, faintly. “Do you- The book, it said halfas-”

“That’s a bit of a slur, honestly,” said Danny. 

“Half-ghosts, then, that they often have a… alternate form.”

“Yeah,” said Danny, answering the unspoken question. “I do. But I don’t- I don’t think we’re… ready for that, yet.”

“Danny-”

“You still think all ghosts are evil.”

“You just said they attack you during school.”

“Not most of them! You don’t ever even see most of them,” said Danny. He pulled his legs up onto his bed and hugged his knees.

“You’re right,” said Maddie.

“What?” said Jack. 

“You’re right, Danny,” she said, more firmly. “That you’re… that this happened to you, it shows that some of our theories need to be adjusted, and…” she trailed off, then took a step closer to Danny. She put a hand on his shoulder, and he didn’t flinch. “We want you to know, we love you, no matter what. Whether you’re completely human, or half-ghost, or if you look… _unusual_ when you’re a ghost or… anything. We love you.”

“That’s right, Danno,” said Jack, softly. “You’ll always be our son, even if you’re huge and green and have _teeth-”_

 _“Aaaand_ that’s enough, Jack,” said Maddie. “If you- If you want to talk about this, Danny, we’ll be downstairs, okay? Whenever you want.”

“Okay,” said Danny. 

It took a long time to work up the courage to go down.


	20. Experiment 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is Lexx's fault.

In the few, stolen moments when Danny could be himself, when he could remember what it was like to think, he was not afraid of hurting Sam. He could never hurt Sam. Or Tucker. Or Jazz. Or anybody, really.

At least, he couldn't kill them.

The incident with Freakshow had proved that. What Frostbite had taught him had confirmed it. Danny could never kill a person.

Even the thought of doing so made him sick. It was antithetical to his Obsession, the spiritual core that let him exist. It was physically impossible.

What Danny feared was the GIW would finding out.

The GIW knew a lot about ghosts, but they didn't really understand them. That lack had saved Danny so far, insofar as he could be said to be saved.

But if they found out- If they knew they were chasing a dead end-

What Danny feared was them finding out and disposing of their human test subject. What Danny feared was them finding out and deciding to use him for something he couldn’t fight. What Danny feared was them finding out and somehow binding his Obsession to _them._ What Danny feared was them finding out and deciding that he was better used as an unliving anatomy lesson. 

But, most of the time, he didn’t fear anything. 

He didn’t _feel_ anything. Except for obedience.

The wall in front of him was as blank as his mind. An experimenter in equally white clothes paced back and forth in front of it, periodically obscuring Danny’s view. Danny did not turn his head to follow the experimenter’s progress. His eyes did not rotate. He had been told to be still, and so he was. 

“Alright, so,” said the experimenter to someone Danny couldn’t see, “the thing is, D-5541,” the collar around Danny’s neck purred to life, stroking at his dormant core, awaiting orders, “will follow any order _unless_ the order involves inflicting significant damage on a human or sufficiently intelligent ghost, correct?”

“That’s right,” drawled a voice from behind Danny. 

Without an order, the collar returned to its base state, conserving power. 

“But it _has_ inflicted that damage in the past, inadvertently.”

This was almost, but not quite, enough for Danny’s consciousness to claw its way back up to the surface. 

“So, what I’m saying is, what if this is a perception issue? What if we block out its sensory input and just give it orders?”

“That would make control a lot harder,” said the other voice. “Make it harder for it to operate. Damage a lot of its value as an asset.”

“Yeah, yeah. But if we can overcome the hurdle, we can just cut out its sensory input when we need it to go in for the kill, or whatever you want to call it for ghosts, and let it operate normally otherwise."

“That could work,” agreed the other voice. 

“Great,” said the first experimenter, stopping at the very edge of Danny’s field of view. He clapped his hands together. “Let’s get started.”

Danny was afraid of hurting Sam.


	21. When You've Shuffled Off

Unlike most people, Danny knew what would happen to him when his so-called mortal coil finally- heh- _gave up the ghost._ The knowledge was a gift and a curse unique to half-ghosts, won for them by their predecessors. 

(Because there were predecessors. Vlad was the eldest extant halfa, but he was not the _first._ )

When Danny died, from injury or old age, or something else, he would become a ghost.

“That’s not so bad,” said Danny, cupping his hands behind his head and leaning back in the air. “I mean, I already know what it’s like, at least.”

Clockwork smiled, the expression bittersweet in his old face, and Danny knew then that there was a catch. As always. 

“No,” said Clockwork, “I suppose it isn’t _bad._ I merely thought to warn you. While you are still young.”

Danny made a face. “Okay, what’s the catch? Am I going to be stuck in my old man body and have bad joints for all eternity, or something?”

Clockwork laughed and grew younger. “No, no. After all, _I_ have no such issue. Nor does Pandora.”

“What?” exclaimed Danny, abandoning his attitude of relaxation to lean forward, intent. “You and Pandora? You guys were halfas?”

“Evidently,” said Clockwork, his age settling at ‘young adult.’ 

Oh. Danny did not like the sound of that. 

“If you wish to know yourself when you are dead, I suggest you begin to keep a journal,” continued Clockwork. 

“What do you mean?”

“Humans,” said Clockwork, “and halfas, record their memories in their brains. Ghosts,” he split his head open to illustrate, “do not have those.”

.

He knew his name was Phantom. He knew he was strong. At least, it seemed to him that some of the things he had done in the last hour or so (specifically reducing that island to rubble) should only be possible for strong people. 

Beyond that? He had nothing. No memory, no sudden insights, no internal urge to _do_ something, or go in a particular direction. 

Nothing. 

Not that he particularly wanted to stay floating in this green... _space._

(He hesitated to call it that. Space should have stars in it. Space should be empty and silent and full and wondrous. But that’s just a feeling.)

He was... lost. He didn’t know who he was or where he was going.

(There had to be a reason he was here, right? A reason for him to exist?)

A sound caught the very edge of his hearing, and he turned to face it more fully, curious. 

_“Help,”_ cried the tiny, distant voice once again.

Well, at least he knew where he was going.

(He never could ignore a cry for help.)

.

Clockwork watched the young Phantom- and he was young again, in all the ways that mattered- change direction and allowed himself a smile. They would meet again someday. 

And when they did, Clockwork had sixty-eight years worth of journals to give him. 


	22. At Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look, another~
> 
> (Posted the previous chapter just an hour ago.)

Danny didn’t actually enjoy fighting. 

Okay, that was sort of half a lie. He liked fighting _sometimes._ It was sort of a release. Stress relief. An outlet for misplaced aggression. A time he could beat ghosts up and wreck things and take his anger out on stuff that wouldn’t _break_ and _bleed_ and _die._

But most of the time? Most of the time ghost fights, the whole superhero gig, were nothing but stress, pain, disappointed adults and friends, and missed sleep. 

Most of the time, if a peaceful option presented itself, Danny would take it. 

“So,” said Danny, who was far too sleep deprived to deal with this, “you’re saying that you’d only harvest, uh, _dream energy,”_ whatever that was, “from people who are already sleeping?”

“Yes, yes,” said Nocturne. “No more little machines. This will be _all natural.”_

_“_ Yeah, and so is getting eaten by lions. Is this going to hurt anyone?”

“No. People shouldn’t be able to tell the difference.”

“It’s not going to be, like, you’re eating anyone’s life energy, is it?”

“No, not at all. Everyone should be perfectly healthy. No difference to their normal lives.”

“... Why didn’t you do it like this last time?” asked Danny. “If you stayed away, I probably wouldn’t have even cared. Or noticed.”

“Aheh. Ha. Well, you know what it’s like,” said Nocturne. 

“Not really.” He was too tired to play twenty ghosts- twenty _questions_ \- with a maybe-former enemy. 

“Wanting more of what you love,” said Nocturne. 

“I guess,” said Danny. “What do you even want all that dream energy stuff for, anyway?”

“Oh, I eat it, and it is good for a surprisingly large number of things in the Ghost Zone.”

“Nothing dangerous?”

“Not at all.”

Danny blinked slowly at the ghost. “You know, if I find out you’re lying, about any of this, I’m going to track you down and beat you up. You get that, right?”

“You more than have the right to do so, this is your haunt.”

“Right,” said Danny. He twitched, as if to shake off the weirdness of a ghost who was definitely more powerful than he was (even though Danny had managed to defeat him, it had been with a lot of help) asking him for permission to do... whatever. “Uh. If you’re going to stay here, though, I’m going to need to like, check in with you. Regularly.”

“You should be able to find me here at this time, most nights,” said Nocturne, smiling beatifically. 

“Great. Cool. I’m going to go now. Remember, mess with my people and I’ll beat you up.”

“Of course.”

.

Once Phantom left, Nocturne’s smile changed. It did not shrink, but it became less gentle, more satisfied. Like that of a fox who had been allowed into a hen-house. 

Well. Maybe not _quite_ like that. Every thing he had said to Phantom was true, after all. 

It was only that he had an entirely different goal in mind than collecting dream energy. It wasn’t every day one came across another ghost who could travel through dreams. 

Nocturne pulled a mask not unlike his own from the folds of his starry robe and ran a finger along its edge. 

He had always wanted an apprentice.


	23. Red Red Red

Vlad wasn’t like Danny. He was stronger, older, wiser. He wasn’t going to _lose_ himself to this thing, wasn’t going to sink into its depths and become a mindless puppet. No matter how seductively they swirled. 

However, there was a great distance between not being a mindless puppet and not being _controlled._ A great gulf of separation, which Vlad could not cross. 

“What do you want?” hissed Vlad, clenching the edge of his heavy, oak table. Despite being in human form, his claws were beginning to peek through. The gouges he would dig into the wood if he didn’t calm himself would be difficult to explain to the cleaning staff. 

“Oh,” said the insufferable clown, “you know, the usual. Money, power,” he hopped up to sit on Vlad’s desk, crossing his ankles, “control.” He prodded Vlad’s chest with the scepter, and it took all of Vlad’s concentration to keep his ghost half _down. “_ I think you can provide me with all that. And more.”

“Please. You couldn’t keep _Daniel_ under control when he was an _infant._ What makes you think you can control _me?”_

_“_ Well,” said Freakshow, “I think I’m doing a pretty good job of it right now. And,” he patted the side of Vlad’s face, “you don’t have any aggravating little friends to break you free, now do you?”

Freakshow stood up and stretched. “Oh, we’re going to have a fine time, you and me. You’ve already got the whole robber shtick down, don’t you? Answer me.”

“Yes,” growled Vlad. 

“But I suppose we don’t need to risk that right away. It’ll take a long, long time to burn through all _your_ cash, won’t it?”

“I suppose.”

“We’ll sample all the finer things in life! And don’t worry about your companies. They can sponsor the new and improved Circus Gothica. Tell me you love the idea.”

“I love it,” gritted out Vlad, inserting as much sarcasm into the words as (in)humanly possible.

Freakshow’s manic grin faltered for a moment, but came back full force. “You’ll enjoy it, Mr. Masters.”

The doorbell buzzed. 

“Tsk. Tell them to leave,” said Freakshow. 

“The room is soundproofed. I’ll have to use the intercom,” said Vlad. One of the first things Freakshow had done upon entering was forbid Vlad from using the phone or intercom.

“Whatever. Just get rid of them. And don’t tell anyone what’s going on.”

Vlad grimaced, but hit the button. “I’m busy,” he said, speaking over whoever was on the other end. “Come back later.” He took his hand off the button. “Happy?”

“Of course. Now, where were we? Oh, yes, discussing what to do with my money.”

“ _My_ money.”

“I own you, Mr. Masters. It’s all mine.”

Vlad watched the door silently open behind Freakshow, but didn’t say anything. After all, Freakshow hadn’t ordered him to. He did have to wonder who could have gotten past the keypad. He couldn’t see who it was, past Freakshow. The man’s cape blocked the view, from where Vlad was seated.

The door swung shut again. Freakshow whirled at the click. 

There was a bang. Freakshow dropped to the floor. 

“I told you,” said Samantha Manson, carefully wiping off the handle of a small pistol, “if you ever showed your face in Amity Park again, I’d kill you.” She stepped over the body and put the gun on Vlad’s desk. “Your problem, now. You’re welcome.”

She picked up the staff on her way out.

Vlad sat frozen in his seat, watching Freakshow’s blood seep into his carpet.

Fudge _nuggets._


	24. Tree Topper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did this because of a tumblr ask.

"Here's your invitation to the truce party," said Skulker, dropping the letter by Danny's head, "and here's the duty list. Pick something." He shoved a piece of paper into Danny's face.

"You know," said Danny, testing the rope Skulker had tied him with, "you get a lot better at chasing me when you're doing it for non-murder purposes."

Skulker scowled, but Danny knew better than to take his apparent facial expression as a sign of his true emotions. After all, the face Danny could see wasn't really Skulker's. It was a mask. One the tiny green jellybean inside could manipulate as he pleased.

"What do you mean, 'duty list,' anyway?" Danny blew the paper off his nose.

"It's a list. Of duties. For people who want to attend the party. You can't possibly imagine that one ghost does it all on their own, do you?"

"I don't know. Some _living_ people are really into the holidays. Wouldn't surprise me if there was someone over in the GZ Obsessing."

"There are," said Skulker flatly. "But going to those parties is risky."

"Oh. Yeah. I guess that makes sense. So, is this, like, a potluck deal, or white elephant, or do I have to come set up, or what?"

"Read the list, whelp!"

"I _would,_ " said Danny, "if you held it far enough away for me to see what was written on it. "My eyes don't focus that close."

Grumbling, Skulker adjusted his position.

A lot of the things on the list were already checked off. The rest looked dangerous (fighting the Krampus), time consuming (holly acquisition, with a stupidly high number of branches listed next to it), expensive (providing new holiday table settings), confusing (Danny didn't know what a 'consoda' was, or why he would fetch offerings from it), or simply extraordinarily unappealing (after party cleanup). Except for one.

One that caught Danny's eye because of a very specific word that was included.

"Why's the star all by itself?" asked Danny.

"Because the star is important," said Skulker. "Adding the star to the tree is what starts off the real celebration. A star needs to be impressive. Dramatic! Not one of those little dinky tinsel things you can find at human stores."

Part of Danny knew he shouldn't- But when had he ever listened to that part of himself?

Actually, that wasn't really fair. He listened, otherwise he'd be fully dead instead of just half.

Still.

(The idea of making a star made his skin feel sparkly and fuzzy, like his whole body was half an inch from the surface of freshly poured soda, but all over.)

"I'll take it," he said.

"Humf," said Skulker. "Don't screw up, or you'll be in for a beating as soon as the truce is over." He made a mark by the name and started to fly off.

"Hey! Aren't you going to untie me?"

"Nah."

.

"He's late," said Desiree, sharply, glaring at Skulker as if he had any control over what the whelp did or did not do.

She wasn't the only one.

"He's not late yet," defended Skulker.

"You shouldn't have given him the star as a choice," complained Technus, his voice squaking like a poorly connected computer speaker. "You should have just told him what he'd have to do. Something that wouldn't ruin the party. He's a teenager! Teenagers are easily distracted."

"I didn't know you were a teen, techie," drawled Spectra, who really shouldn't have been at the party at all, seeing as she wasn't, and never had been, invited. Skulker was hoping someone would find a way to throw her and her little minion out before midnight.

"It's TECHNUS, MASTER OF TECHNOLOGY, CONTROLLER OF ALL THINGS ELECTRONIC AND BEEPING."

"I am sure Sir Phantom is on his way," said Princess Dora, softly, ignoring Technus's continuing rant with the ease of long practice. She would not be here the whole evening. Her kingdom had its own, separate celebrations, but they wouldn't start for well over half a human day. "He is a very responsible person, and he was speaking to me about stars just earlier this month." She frowned, slightly, swirling the darkly luminous wine in her glass. "That is, I think he was talking about stars. The conversation was somewhat difficult for me to follow."

"Oh, no," said Desiree, putting one hand delicately over a smile.

"What?" growled Skulker.

"It always bothered me a little, you see, but I hadn't realized quite why until just now." She was barely even trying to hide her delight. "The second time I fought him, it was during a meteor shower."

"So?" asked Amorpho.

"He was rather cross with me during the fight. At the time, I thought it was because he was missing that girl's party, or because of the whole memory wiping thing, but in retrospect..."

"Just spit it out already," said Skulker.

"I do believe you gave the task of making the tree _star_ to a ghost Obsessed with outer space."

Inside the suit, Skulker's true hands slip off his controls for just a moment. "Oh, Ancients," he groaned.

"We're not getting a star this year, are we?" asked Ember.

Phantom chose that moment to barrel through the door. "Sorry!" he exclaimed, looking and sounding more like a little kid than Skulker had ever witnessed. "Am I late? No, I'm not. Never mind. I'm not sorry. What do you think?"

He held out the... _thing_ in his hands for the assembled ghosts to view. It was... It was definitely a star. A round blue star. Complete with solar flares and sunspots. _Animated_ flares and sunspots.

"How the _hell?_ " whispered Walker in the background, despite the fact that he and his pink prison really had no room to talk.

"Is it no good?" asked Phantom, managing to shift his weight even though he was floating. "I turned the brightness way down so that everyone could see the details, but I think I could turn it back up again without too much trouble." He blinked up at the other ghosts, and Skulker noticed with some unease that his pupils were currently shaped like crescent moons. "I mean, the other one exploded, but I think I've got it, now."

All of the ghosts slid back, just slightly. Not that they were afraid of explosions, but, well, being cautious didn't hurt.

"Er," said Dora, "what is it, exactly?"

"A star! A blue giant, specifically. Well, a model of one, anyway, but I think it's a good model. I mean, it's a blue giant right now. I've got it set up so that it'll go through the whole life cycle of a massive star. Or, not the _whole_ life cycle, because that would include the nebula, but the life cycle from this point? It'll change color and expand as the night goes on and it uses up its 'hydrogen'- I've scaled the expansion, though, don't worry, it won't take over- and then the core will collapse and the outer layers will be ejected, and- BOOM!- supernova!"

"Ghost child," said Technus, in a more strangled than usual voice, "are you telling us that's a _bomb_?"

"No, it's a star," said Phantom, blankly. On closer inspection, the crescents in his eyes were not the only modification to Phantom's appearance. He had pale green and silver stars scattered liberally across his nose and cheeks, and similar shapes in the black of his costume.

In the background, Desiree was dying of laughter.

"Don't you think a supernova might be... dangerous?"

"Oh, a real one, sure. But I tested one before I brought this, and all it did to me was singe my eyebrows off, and I was standing _really_ close."

"Whelp," said Skulker, searching for some reason to reject Phantom's 'contribution,' "how is that even supposed to stay on the tree? It's just a ball."

"Oh, it'll float wherever I tell it to, don't worry, I've tested it!"

.

It perhaps said something about ghostly parties that the sudden detonation of the tree topper several hours later, the subsequent glee of the supposed superhero in attendance when the room was filled with star-shaped glitter and confetti, and the attempted homicide on the part of several glitter-unfriendly ghosts was not the most exciting series of events to occur that night.


	25. Impossible Causes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a tumblr ask I got earlier... idk...

Danny can feel it, the moment his feet hit the pavement of Saint Rita Avenue, and casts a blessing at whoever picked the name for this road. He makes it to the median, and turns, facing back the way he came. The washed-out yellow street lights prick at his eyes, reminding him that, as always, he has more in common with what he’s been running from than anything else. 

Darkness splashes against the barrier between street and sidewalk. On both sides.

He hates it when spirits work together.

In Danny’s pockets, paper rustles. Prayers and charms from half a dozen different cultures, East and West, copied as best three untrained teenagers could. Some of them had done good. None of them had done enough.

He’s glad it’s late enough that there are no cars. The street is quiet, except for whispers only he can hear. It is cold, except for the almost-comforting burning under his feet, promising him safety, for now.

But this is a road with the name of someone holy, not hallowed ground. The barrier at its edges is not strong, and the thought of approaching an intersection, a _crossroads,_ carries with it a frisson of risk that Danny is loath to ignore. Sometimes the labyrinthine Old Law that governed crossroads was helpful, but not tonight. Not this close to midnight with the shadows practically boiling with malice. 

He needs a church. Or a temple. Or a mosque. Or a neopagan’s working space. He’ll even take a backyard where a bunch of kids are going through an Egypt phase and play at worshiping Osiris and Horus-Re. It’s worked before. Barely. Any place that’s had faith and its motions poured out on it often enough and recently enough for it to matter. 

Otherwise Danny will have to draw on his own power, and that’s never turned out well. 

But this section of Saint Rita Avenue isn’t the kind of place a church is built, and even with the spirit-thing swamping his senses with its hate, Danny can’t feel enough of a spark to justify breaking in. 

He used the last of his blessed salt to get this far. He’s been out of holy water for days. 

The first tendrils of _other_ have broken through the avenue’s barrier. The whispers become razor sharp and crystal clear against Danny’s mind. _What are you what are you what are you_ and _not here not there you don’t belong_ and _we know you_ and _pain_ and _fear_ and _give up give up give up._ They’re singsong and saccharine and far from the worst he’s endured so far tonight. 

He’s out of time. He’s out of ideas. 

Danny takes a step backwards and stops being Danny. 

Phantom is different than Danny. He is made of pain and fear and all the things Danny thought were more important than his own life. He is a wild and contradictory spirit, his anchor to this word both inviolable and tenuous. He walks the narrow path between the sacred and the unspeakably profane. 

The spirits reaching for him know this. They use it as their weapon, and it hurts more than anything. 

(He is a thing that should not _be_ and every second he does he degrades the souls of everyone around him he is a parasite does he not _see--)_

Phantom knows he cannot win this fight. But if he runs, these spirits will continue to hunt, to _prey--_

No. 

He can see the spirits more clearly now than when he was clad in flesh. He can see them one, two, three, five, seven, eleven, thirteen times and more, spread across the layers of reality that they are allowed. When he is Danny again, he will remember a shapeshifter and a woman made of black flames. 

(He does not know what he looks like in these places. He is afraid to find out.)

He fights. 

He loses. Badly. 

Not so badly that he cannot run home to the maze of light his parents built blind and he added to with averted eyes. This could be seen as a kind of victory, to live to fight again, protect again, come up with a new strategy, but Phantom has been injured too badly. A wound to the spirit is still a wound, never mind that when he wakes up as Danny all he feels is a heart-deep ache. 

His covers are tangled around him when he wakes, the protective signs Tucker had embroidered into the cloth pressed against his bare skin. He does not know what happened to the clothes he was wearing. If he is lucky, he dropped them in the wash in a post-transformation haze. If not, they’re lying in the middle of Saint Rita Avenue. Or just. Gone. Which is also an option. 

As he frees himself, he notices more marks on his skin. They match the low-grade fog of depression in his brain. Both are souvenirs from fighting with his soul outside his body. 

(Or whatever his soul had become.)

Getting dressed is a chore. A painful chore. He makes it downstairs eventually, although he wishes he hadn’t when he sees Jazz’s spirit week poster on the kitchen counter. Spirit. It seems like a cruel universal jest. 

A warm hand touches his shoulder, and Danny looked up into his sister’s eyes.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“Yeah,” says Danny, even as he thinks _no._

She smiles, just a little bit. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

Danny shrugs. He can’t, really, and he doesn’t want to lie to her face.

“Just-- I know you’re going through some stuff, but, I have faith in you, okay? I believe in you. So, try to believe in yourself, too, okay?”

“Okay,” says Danny. Something feels... different, about the way Jazz says that. It isn’t her normal pep talk, and she doesn’t mention psychology at all. 

She gives him a slightly large smile and a pat and walks away. 

_Mine,_ whispers the part of him that was always Phantom, sounding both surprised and pleased. 

_Of course she’s ours,_ Danny thinks back, _she’s our sister._

But he feels fuller, now. Healed, in some small way, from what had been done to him the previous night. 

It takes longer than it should for him to put the pieces together.


	26. Bad Counsel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a tumblr ask. Spectra was actually planning to kidnap Jazz and use her as a battery/apprentice. In this, she succeeds.

It _looked_ like a normal school office. Not a Casper High office, the colors were wrong, but an office nonetheless. 

It wasn’t.

The room was a façade, and the doorknob was smoking. As soon as she left, she’d be back to walking on coals. 

Then she was there. Spectra. Penelope. The _counselor._ Black flames framed a perfect face and finely manicured nails. Jazz flinched at her sudden appearance and clenched her teeth as the ghost (or demon) laughed. 

“So, Jasmine, tell me about your day,” she purred. “Did you try to get out again?” She drummed her nails on her desk and picked up a pen, clicking the cap on the end just enough times to be aggravating. A pad of paper was in her other hand. She _hadn’t_ picked that up. “Why bother?” Spectra asked, gleefully. “You know you can’t make it past the fires. Even if you did, where would you go? You’re human, dear. You can’t _survive_ without someone to look after you.”

Jazz looked away. She’d been standing for a while, now. The furniture did strange things if you used it for too long. Her legs were trembling with the rest of her. 

“No? Well, how about I tell you about mine?” Her lips curled upwards. “I spoke to your brother today.”

Spectra always knew what buttons to push, and although Jazz tried not to react, she couldn’t help her small, sharp inhale. 

“Oh, yes. Little Danny. He misses you, you know. Misses his big sister. He’s still so torn up inside, even though he should have gotten over you like everyone else. Still thinks he could have _saved_ you. Pathetic. As if someone like him could save _anyone--_

_“Shut up!”_ shouted Jazz, loosing herself for a moment. “You leave him alone you soul sucking--” She cut herself off. 

“No, no,” said Spectra, leering and looming over her. “Tell me what you _really_ think. Tell me what goes on behind that pretty face of yours. I can taste it of course-” the ghost reached down and drew a talon over the curve of Jazz’s cheek, “-but that’s not really the same.”

Jazz pulled away, but Spectra seized her wrist. 

“It’s still there, dear. Whether you like it or not. Deep down, you know. The only one you have to blame for this situation is yourself. Because,” the word was delicate, whispered almost lovingly in Jazz’s ear, “you’re just like me.”

The ghost leaned back, donning the human guise she had worn when Jazz first met her, head tilted to one side. She looked satisfied. Satiated. 

“And where would we be if we didn’t help those like ourselves?”


	27. Nervous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pink astronaut prompt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted two chapters at once. Go back if you haven't read the other.

.

Danny smoothed down the front of his shirt again. This was fine. Fine. He wasn’t sweating. When was the last time he sweated, anyway? Perk of being half-ghost, he supposed, along with an immunity to acne. 

Anyway. 

Even if he _wasn’t,_ he wouldn’t be sweating. What was there to sweat over? It wasn’t like he didn’t _know_ Paulina. They’d been friends in elementary school, acquaintances in middle school, and then... yeah... _something_ through most of high school. 

Point was, he knew her. Had known her for a while. 

And this was their first date. 

(Because the one ‘they’d’ been on while Kitty was overshadowing Paulina definitely didn’t count.)

Yeah. 

He was doomed. 

At least he’d brought her a gift? Their first gift as a couple. That counted for something, right?

(Not counting the cursed necklace he’d accidentally given her right before the first school dance. Nope. Didn’t count at all)

Correction. He was _hyper-_ doomed. _Turbo-_ doomed, even. 

Who even got a girl a geode, anyway? She was going to hate it. He had no evidence that she still liked rocks. The last time she’d mentioned them in his hearing had been in sixth grade. He should have gone with flowers. Flowers were easy, safe. Everyone liked getting flowers. 

But she _had_ agreed to go on this date, and he’d made sure the ghost issue was covered. So... yeah. Couldn’t go too terribly. 

Probably. 

.

Paulina had never been so nervous before a date, and she’d been on a lot. It was probably because she’d never been on a date with someone she knew so well. Danny knew what she looked like in _pigtails._ Ugh. _So_ uncool.

But, then, _she_ knew what he looked like in one of his Dad’s hazmat suits, so they were probably even on that front. 

On the other hand...

What was she _doing_ with these flowers? Everyone _knew_ the girl did _not_ buy a gift for the guy on the first date! _Especially_ not flowers. This was backwards!

Also, lilies were funeral flowers, and marigolds, well. Not to mention the spider-lilies.

She was really hoping that he wouldn’t interpret the bouquet as a novel way of saying ‘go die.’

But they’d _spoken_ to her, and her mother had told her that sometimes, she just needed to follow her instincts, let the universe guide her. Or something like that, anyway. 

And she _had_ asked Danny out first, which was a bit of a reversal as far as her dating life went. Maybe that’s why she was nervous. 

Yeah...

That had to be it. 

She caught sight of him standing outside the cafe, wearing an uncharacteristic button down shirt and a messenger bag. He looked as nervous as she was (she didn’t look it, though. She was the master of her appearance). But when he spotted her, he lit up. She found herself smiling as well. 

Perhaps she didn’t need to be so nervous. 


	28. Fair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from dp-marvel94: Danny comes into his bedroom to find a clone of himself, not Dani but one he's never met, asleep in his bed.

If he had a nickel for every time he’d seen a clone of himself in his bed, he’d have two nickels. Or three, if he counted the thing with the Ghost Catcher. Not a lot, but it was weird that it had happened so many times. 

Not for the first time, Danny wondered if his life was, in fact, some kind of dying dream, and what it said about himself that his subconscious kept presenting himself with clones. In his bed. 

Yeah. 

Note to self: _Never_ ask Jazz about that. 

Which left him with the decision of what to do about the clone in his bed. Because, yeah. That was still a thing he had to figure out. 

He eased the door closed, not wanting to either wake the clone or attract the attention of his parents. 

The clone wasn’t visibly injured, and there was no scent of ectoplasm... Well, no _further_ scent of ectoplasm. Overall, Danny was pretty noseblind to the odor. 

Nondescript clothing. Clothing pretty similar to Danny’s. Actually, he had a shirt like that. So, either the clone had taken Danny’s clothes, or had come prepared. 

No obvious Vlad flags, but nothing that would immediately indicate that the clone wasn’t from Vlad. Time travel was an option, too, as were shape-shifters. 

Danny tilted his head. His first impulse, as always, was to help, and with the clone sleeping and vulnerable, it didn’t seem likely that this was a kill-and-replace deal. Or, more likely, a kidnap-and-replace. But... He should _probably_ give his friends and sister a heads up. Just in case. He pulled out his phone.

Hold up, was the clone not breathing?

“I _told_ you he was cleverer than that,” said a familiar voice. 

Abruptly, Danny was overwhelmed with drowsiness, too intense for him to stay on his feet. His vision grayed out briefly. 

When it came back, he was blinking up at a rather disturbing collection of ghosts. Clockwork. Frostbite. Nocturne. Undergrowth. Vortex.

Danny blinked, slowly, trying to process. “It was time travel, then?” he asked, fuzzily.

“I’m afraid not,” said Clockwork, voice full of mirth. Frostbite bent down to pick Danny up. “Did your parents ever tell you how, in the oldest of stories, there is no distinction between ghosts and the Fair Folk?”

Danny forced himself slightly more awake and tried to squirm away. Nocturne made a gesture, as if throwing something, and lethargy slipped back into his bones. He relaxed against Frostbite’s soft fur. 

“Did they ever tell you how the Fair Folk would take children, _exceptional_ and _gifted_ children, leaving a changeling in their place? Or,” and Clockwork glanced back to the bed, “a false corpse made of branches?”

“Don’t,” mumbled Danny. 

“Don’t be alarmed, Daniel,” said Clockwork, kissing Danny’s forehead. “You passed our tests. This is your _reward_.”


	29. Maturation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the tumblr prompt: What if Danny's ghost form reflected his ghost maturity instead of his human maturity? Halfas are different, especially without being in the ghost zone to speed it up, it must take a lot of energy to develop. (I bet he'd almost never use it if he turned into a toddler when he went ghost)

When a ghost forms from a death, they generally look about the same as they did when they died and change from there. No messy second childhoods required. 

_Other_ methods of forming a ghost, however...

Well. Danny didn’t exactly _die,_ and a ghost started from scratch needs time to mature. Especially if they’re building off of a human blueprint. 

Danny doesn’t realize he didn’t _just_ get ghost powers until over nine months later. 

.

“Wait, wait, wait,” said Danny, squinting up at Frostbite, who was his friend and therefore not likely to be pulling his leg. At least not about something as serious as this. “Are you trying to tell me that I’ve been, what, pregnant with myself for the last nine months?”

“An apt analogy!” said Frostbite, who apparently did not have enough knowledge of human culture to understand why that statement and all its implications were horrifying. “Of course, you are not giving birth to another individual. Instead, your other half is maturing.”

“Is there any way to, uh, stop it?” asked Danny, nervously plucking at the paper on the examination table. “Because I really, really can’t be randomly turning into a ghost baby for however long this maturation thing is supposed to last.”

Frostbite looked like Danny had just suggested he murder someone. “Great One,” he said grimly, “you do not know what you ask.” He knelt next to Danny, and still wasn’t quite short enough to look him in the eye. “What you’re asking...” His voice was soft. “To snuff out a ghost that young... Not to mention what it would do to you as a whole.”

Danny laughed. Stupid anxiety reaction. “It-It wouldn’t kill me, though, right?”

“I do not know,” admitted Frostbite. “But it would certainly remove your powers. Your other half is their source.”

“Right,” said Danny. “Okay. I sort of expected that. So, what do I _do?”_

“I would suggest,” said Frostbite, “staying here until your ghost half is at least as old as you are now. For safety reasons.”

“How long do you think that will take?” asked Danny. 

Frostbite’s grin became rather fixed. “Fourteen years, or thereabouts,” he said. 

“ _Frostbite,”_ said Danny, aghast. “I can’t wait _fourteen years.”_

“It’s possible that being in the Ghost Zone may accelerate the process somewhat, as compared to staying in the human world. The high-ectoplasm environment is more nurturing.”

“How much faster are we talking about?” demanded Danny. 

“I would need to run more tests to be certain,” said Frostbite. “And compare the ectoplasm concentration of your home to the one here. It is unfortunate, but there are no ghosts quite like you.”

Danny groaned. “Thanks,” he said. “But I can’t stay. Not even for a week. I have responsibilities. What should I do to just... I don’t know. _Manage_ this? Keep myself from turning into a ghost baby in the middle of the day, or during a fight?” 

Frostbite looked intensely uncomfortable. “I am unsure. You are still intending to fight?”

“Yeah?” said Danny. “I kind of have to.”

“Don’t let the ghosts you fight see you in your other form.”

Duh, thought Danny. “I don’t have a death wish,” he said instead. 

“They are extremely unlikely to try to destroy you. It is much more likely that any adult ghost that saw you would _adopt_ you. And you wouldn’t have the ability to resist.”

“As soon as I got back to my proper age, I could,” said Danny. 

“That’s another thing I am concerned about,” said Frostbite. “You have several ghostly mental tendencies already.” He tapped Danny’s forehead with an icy claw. “I am unsure how much more your other half will influence this one. Clinging to an older ghost is instinctual for infant ghosts. Which your other half is.”

Danny closed his eyes, centering himself. “Okay,” he said. “Anything else I should know about?”

“Mh, yes. Great One, when was the last time you measured your height?”

.

“ _You don’t think I’m aging?”_

Frostbite attempted to explain. 

“ _You don’t think I’m going to age until I catch up?”_

.

Danny flew the Spector Speeder away from the Far Frozen, laden with various health instructions and several gifts the yetis said infant ghosts tended to enjoy. He was okay. This was fine. He’d fought things just shy of godhood with glitchy invisibility, unreliable phasing, lackluster hovering, a magic soup can, and whatever of his parents’ inventions happened to be working that week. What was one more?

Too much. 

He briefly let his head rest on the steering wheel. 

Apparently, even this respite was too much for the universe to give him, because the Poltergeist Proximity Alarm started to blare. He jerked his head up. 

Somehow, in his second of inattentiveness, he’d been surrounded. By eyeball ghosts. 

_Maaaaybe_ he’d just drifted into their meeting, and they’d let him drift back out?

The ghosts raised their hands, each one glowing ominously. 

Yeah. He didn’t think so, either. He hit the accelerator and-

Time shuddered. 

He was suddenly very much _not_ in the Spector Speeder, and still surrounded. _How-?_

Several of the eyeball ghosts touched him, and his skin pulsed with pain as ectoenergy was forced through it. He gasped, then choked as white rings sprang up around his waist. Not now! Not already!

He couldn’t stop it. He was too full of energy. 

Just like every time before, his mind went fuzzy as it adapted to radically different sensory inputs. 

“... should keep him in ghost form until it catches up to his human age,” said one of them, as he came back to himself. “At least.”

“We’ll need a longer-term solution than simply feeding him too much power to stay human,” said another. 

“Clockwork will have something,” said a... a third? Danny wasn’t sure. They all sounded the same, and Danny’s field vision was limited from the... basked? Yeah, it was a basket. 

Who was Clockwork?

“Regardless, we must ensure he is raised _correctly,”_ said one of the ghosts, putting a delicate emphasis on the last word. “Teach him respect and obedience.”

The others voiced their agreement. 

Danny didn’t like the sound of that. He reached for his human half, just as a clawed green hand reached into the basket. Energy flushed through him again, and the warmth of his human half fluttered out of his grasp. 

The clawed hand then pulled a blanket over him, tucking him in. And... actually... he was pretty worn out by everything... ectoenergy took time to process properly for a body as tiny as his currently was... it would be okay if he... fell asleep...

Right?


	30. Rescue Him (From His Own Mistakes)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt: Vlad gets caught by the GIW

“He didn’t,” said Danny. 

“He did,” said Jazz, turning on the TV and flicking through the channels until she hit Ghost Watch. 

“What the heck,” said Danny, pulling a chair away from the table and sitting down. “How did he get caught?” This was mostly a rhetorical question, as he could see a replay of the moment on the screen. “Even _I’ve_ never been caught by those guys.”

Jazz put a hand on the back of Danny’s chair. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed this,” said Jazz, “but Vlad actually sucks.”

“I _know_ he sucks, Jazz. We talk about this all the time.”

“No, let me finish. He sucks at thinking things through, and also all combat tactics that don’t boil down to ‘overwhelming force.’“ She paused. “I mean, you don’t think things through, either, a lot of the time, but you’re a teenager. And you’re _still_ better than Vlad.”

“Thanks.”

“I mean, when was the last time you tried to use ghostly artifacts to advance your social position?”

Danny didn’t answer and slid down in his chair. 

“Okay. We’ll... talk about that later,” said Jazz. 

“Good call,” mumbled Danny. 

“So... What should we do?”

“I have to rescue him,” said Danny, already feeling resentful of the imposition. He’d have to skip school and hope that his parents could handle the ghosts he normally would. “Otherwise, as soon as they find out what Vlad is...” And that was if Vlad didn’t throw him to the wolves on his own. 

Vlad _probably_ wouldn’t do that. Right away. 

“ _We_ will rescue him,” corrected Jazz. “Let’s make a plan.”


	31. New Futures

It was the end of the world. 

Really, it should have been no surprise. The apocalypse had begun ten years ago. And yet-

Yet-

When that monster had disappeared, Valerie had let herself hope. Hope that she and the few other survivors of his latest attack could rebuild. That, perhaps, they could seek out other survivors from elsewhere in the world. That they could recover. 

“What happened?” asked Valerie, staring at the gray-brown remnants of their crops. 

“I don’t know,” said Star, wiping her hands on her overalls. “They were doing fine, before the, well, before the shield went down.”

“Do you think it’s some kind of disease from outside?” asked Valerie. 

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Star bit her lip. “It isn’t just the plants,” she said. “It’s the animals, too, and nothing that’s already been harvested is going bad, but...”

“The animals?”

“They’re sick,” said Star. “Vomiting.”

“Do you know if any people-?”

Star shook her head. “You’d have to ask a doctor,” she said. “But it reminds me of... Do you remember those ‘clean pig’ experiments?”

“Uh, not really?”

“Basically someone got the bright idea to kill off all the ‘germs’ on their pigs couple years back... But they killed the pigs’ gut flora, too, and you kinda need that to digest food.”

“Flora,” said Valerie. “As in plants.”

“Yeah,” said Star. “You see where I’m going?”

“Yeah,” said Valerie. “Crap.” At least they had plenty of reserves and food stores, and they would last longer now that there were fewer people. 

Valerie refused to think about _why_ there were fewer people too deeply. 

“We’ll figure it out,” said Valerie, projecting confidence. 

Star gave her a skeptical look. “No offense,” said Star, “but you aren’t a biologist. And most of our biologists are _dead._ Not to mention the labs.”

“I can go out and look for plants that aren’t affected, though,” said Valerie. “If this is a common thing out there, some of them have to have adapted, right? That’s basic evolution.”

“Maybe,” said Star, her mouth set in a grim line. “I’m not sure it works that way if everything dies, though.” 

.

Valerie sat down on her hoverboard, hands gripping the edge to keep from shaking. 

“What is _that?”_ she asked, even though there was no one near to answer her. 

The forest was gray and crumbling. The ground was spiderwebbed with something pulsing between lurid green and red, the red lingering longer than the green. 

“What _is_ that?” she repeated. Whatever it was, it stretched to the horizon. She looked up. It was in the sky, too. 

“The end of the universe.”

Valerie whipped around, pulling out her weapons and leveling them at the ghost who had, somehow, managed to sneak up on her. 

How long had it been since she had seen a ghost that wasn’t _him?_

“Who are you?” she demanded. “What do you want?”

The ghost smiled, the blue pseudo-skin around his eye wrinkling. 

“I am Clockwork, and I am here to make a deal with you, Valerie Gray.”

“Are you causing this?” asked Valerie, jerking her head towards the wasteland. 

“I do not control the Red Country,” said Clockwork, “nor its consumption of unmade worlds.”

“What?”

“You encountered the paradox yourself, Valerie Gray. This world is now never to be. And even if it could come to pass, there is no King in the Infinite Realms. No one to order it and guide it. And so, here as there, things fall apart. All of this was hanging by the most slender of threads.” The ghost gestured back toward Amity Park. 

Valerie stared at the ghost. “I’m going to pass,” she said. Nothing good came of trusting ghosts.

“Very well,” said the ghost, acknowledging her decision with a nod. “If you change your mind, you need only call my name.”

.

It didn’t take long for the remaining humans of Amity Park to start feeling the affects of whatever had happened to the plants and animals. About the same amount of time as it took for the blight afflicting the land and the sky to come into sight of the city ruins.

It took just a little longer for the first person to die. 

(Mikey, the last person left from Valerie’s class other than Star. His health had never been robust, but he had persevered through every other crisis.)

And a bit longer than that for Valerie’s resolve to break. 

.

One hundred and forty-four. That is how many humans stepped through the ghosts portal, confident in nothing except that whatever the ghost was going to do to them was better than wasting away. 

“Where are we?” asked Valerie. The sky was Ghost Zone green, but the landscape was almost earthly forests and fields. 

“A better question might be _when_ are you,” said the ghost, twirling his staff. “Which is about nine years ago, from your perspective, and in a different timeline.”

“A different-?”

“Daniel never went to Vladimir,” said Clockwork. “Nor did his parents die. 


	32. Choo Choo Train (Is a Blob Ghost)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sort of a continuation of the baby ghost half AU a couple chapters back.

The wail was high-pitched and utterly distraught, alarming enough to have Clockwork abandon his work and bolt into the room where he’d left Daniel to sulk after he had refused perfectly good ectoplasmic food. Again. Yes, he knew that going from human food to ghostly food would be a difficult transition for the child, but it seemed the real sticking point for Daniel was that it was _baby_ food. 

Clockwork had to admit he did not fully understand. What else was Daniel going to eat when his fangs hadn’t grown in yet, let alone the rest of his teeth?

When he entered the room, he expected to see Daniel beset by some enemy. Perhaps an animal ghost that had, somehow, gotten past the defenses of Long Now. 

Instead, Daniel was simply crying in the middle of the room, not far from where he’d collapsed in his earlier tantrum, looking more his apparent physical age than he had awake since the Observants had brought him.

Clockwork knelt down beside him and was surprised when Daniel flung himself at him in a desperate kind of hug. He patted the small ghost lightly on the back.

“Daniel,” he said, “what’s wrong? What happened?”

“I ate it!” wailed Daniel, barely intelligible between the tears and the childish lisp he’d picked up. 

“You ate what?” asked Clockwork, vaguely worried that he’d left one of his tools out and the child had eaten it out of spite. He did not relish the task of removing a chronostatic magnifying lens from an infant’s stomach. 

“I swallowed it whoooooole!” cried Danny, extremely distressed. 

“What was it?” asked Clock work, growing more concerned. 

“The little blob ghost! I just- I just-! Ate it! I didn’t mean to!”

Clockwork sighed in relief. Was that all? It was a bit early to teach Daniel about ghost hunger, but, honestly, if it was going to be the only way he’d eat.

“I _killed_ it!”

Ghost hunger _and_ levels of ghostly existence. 

“No you didn’t,” said Clockwork, picking Daniel up. “Come, now, it’s alright. You didn’t do anything wrong. Let’s talk about this.”


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is related to the Isolation entry in the Dannymay 2020 collection.

Cosmic loved Clockwork SO MUCH. His love for Clockwork was SO BIG that he’d have to go grab a universe or two to properly demonstrate its size (which he _could_ do, but which was apparently frowned upon). 

Even so, he sometimes got the urge to do something to Clockwork that was... how should he say it? Not entirely nice. 

Like steal his cloak. 

Cosmic had managed to steal Clockwork’s cloak six times so far, and was using them to make a nice, cozy nest in one of the gear crawlspaces. Something about watching Clockwork look for his cloaks was just _really funny._ It was sort of a game!

Almost!

Clockwork had to know what was going on, anyway. It was in his lair. They were his cloaks. Cosmic wasn’t that sneaky. Clockwork could _see through time._ He had to know. 

But he didn’t call Cosmic out on it. So, Cosmic kept stealing the cloaks. Along with a few other things. And causing other inconveniences. Like dropping buckets of water on him.

Sometimes Cosmic felt guilty, and he’d run and say sorry, but Clockwork never got mad. Even when Cosmic did it again. 

Cosmic didn’t know why he was like this.

.

Even if Cosmic didn’t, Clockwork knew why the younger, smaller, ghost seemed to be so dead-set on disrupting Clockwork’s afterlife with prank after prank. After all, it would be foolish to think that Daniel’s well-earned resentment would just disappear. As much as he appeared to be, Cosmic was no blank slate. 

Clockwork would take the pranks. He would take much worse, if it came to that. 

It was the least he could do, with regards to penance. 

(And, when Cosmic smiled up at him after a bed time story, and started signing away about two universes worth of feelings... Clockwork would take much, much worse, and it would be more than worth it.)


	34. Chapter 34

Two green coins stared back at Alicia from the shadows, Danny’s eyes throwing back the light from Alicia’s lantern. She’d nearly mistaken him for a rabid racoon twice, now, and it was sheer luck she hadn’t had her shotgun either of those times. 

But here they were, by the old fence, Danny perched on an old fence post that really shouldn’t have borne his weight, arms wrapped around his knees, chin sitting on top of them. 

Eyes glowing. 

Maddie wasn’t the only one raised knowing about ghosts. 

“Hi,” said Danny. 

“Hey,” grunted Alicia. 

“You saw me,” said Danny, not blinking, barely moving. 

“Yeah,” said Alicia. “What’s got you stuck here?”

“Doesn’t work like that. I’m not _stuck._ That’s silly.”

“What’s silly is you hanging around here, haunting your parents. What’d they do to deserve that? Huh? They love you, kid. Let them have some closure.”

“It _really_ doesn’t work like that,” said Danny. “I’m not trying to punish them or anything. I’m still me.”

“Are ya?”

“Pretty sure.”

“What happens when you don’t age or anything? Still gonna try to keep this up? Or are you just gonna up and disappear.”

“Depends,” said Danny. “But I was hoping by then I’d be able to tell them without getting my head shot off.”

“Is that so?”

“Mhm. I’m working on it. Besides. I _might_ age. I haven’t been like this long enough to tell.” He shifted so that he was sitting straighter, his wrists resting loosely on his knees. “Are you going to tell them?”

“Not yet,” decided Alicia. “I will if I have to.”

“Okay,” said Danny. “Was there something else?”

“Maybe,” agreed Alicia. “Have you ever been to the Ghost Zone?”


	35. Psychopomp

“Psychopomp. Spirit-guide. Soul shepherd.”

“Listing off synonyms does not make it better!” said Danny. “I can’t _kill_ people. That’s, like, the opposite of what I do. What I’ve _always_ done.”

“You don’t _have_ to kill people,” said Clockwork. “Listen. Which one of those titles sounded like _murderer_ to you?”

“I don’t know, _grim reaper?”_ Danny waved his arm in emphasis, trying not to focus too hard on the black glove and sleeve attached to it. 

Clockwork sighed. “Daniel,” he said. 

Danny shivered at the sound of his name. Why did it feel so- so _off?_

“I apologize. I am not explaining this well, and you are... upset.”

“No, duh,” muttered Danny. He looked down, caught sight of his loose, all-black clothes, and chose to look up instead, at the high, vaulted ceiling of Clockwork’s lair. “It’s kind of- I just died _again._ And you’re telling me I’ve got to-” He blinked rapidly, trying to keep tears out of his eyes. “I didn’t even make it to thirty.” 

“Daniel-”

“Don’t!” snapped Danny. “I don’t- Why doesn’t that feel right? Why do I...”

“You don’t have to kill anyone,” said Clockwork, gently. “All you have to do is guide souls that get lost. Dying is more complicated than it seems.”

“Aren’t ghosts supposed to be lost souls?” asked Danny, crossing his arms. “I don’t think they need much guiding.”

“There are more things in these worlds than the humans and ghosts you can see,” said Clockwork. “You will be helping people.”

Danny wiped at his eyes. “Why couldn’t I just become a ghost?” he asked. “I know how to deal with _that.”_

Clockwork patted his shoulder. “You’ll figure this out, too.” He smiled. “And who’s to say you _aren’t_ still a ghost? Or a human, for that matter?”

Danny looked up at Clockwork with wide eyes. 

“No,” he said. “You have to be joking. _No one_ gets that many chances.”

“Admittedly, it may be more difficult for you to change than that first time. I have full confidence that you will eventually find the way, however. Come along, we have things to do. It _is_ your first day on the job.”


	36. Chapter 36

Ghosts weren’t alive. They didn’t have cells. They didn’t breathe. Some of them formed from the aether, with no parents to speak of, or were born of things that were not ghosts. That didn’t mean they didn’t participate in an ecosystem of sorts, didn’t mean they weren’t subject to their own, internal logic, didn’t mean that the graces of society and community were lost on them. 

As with more material beings, symbiosis was the rule, rather than the exception. 

Danny was a protector, and he had the tendency to drive off predators, one way or another. The community of smaller, weaker spirits thrived under his aegis. 

Symbiosis. Mutualism. Both sides benefit. 

Danny trudged up the stairs, covered in thick, sticky ectoplasm. He’d been on the receiving end of an invention explosion downstairs, and he had more than a few cuts and bruises underneath the rapidly hardening ooze. 

Would this even come out in a shower?

He opened the bathroom door and was immediately accosted by a dozen-odd blob ghosts. He quickly bundled them into his arms and pushed them back into the bathroom. This was difficult, because although the smallest of them was about the size of a cat, the largest were the size of toddlers. _Wiggly_ toddlers. 

Door shut, and immediate risk of exposure reduced, Danny let go of the ghosts, who nuzzled him, mumbling, whispering, and purring, all the sounds just shy of having meaning. The amoeba-like ghosts didn’t _really_ have mouths or tongues, but nevertheless it certainly _felt_ like they were licking him. He flinched away when one of the smaller ghosts explored the area behind his ear. 

At least they were getting something out of this.

The blob ghosts had just shown up one day, and Danny hadn’t the will to drive them off. Plus, not having to clean up all the ectoplasm he got all over himself, his clothing, and his room on a regular basis was nice. Also, they, and some of the other small ghosts that regularly hung out around him, gave his ghost half warm fuzzies. Or cold fuzzies. Whichever. 

Of course, even if the blob ghosts did take off all the ectoplasm (and the blood) Danny was still going to take a shower. No matter how comfortable he was with the blob ghosts otherwise, he was not about to take a shower with them. When his skin and hair felt reasonably ectoplasm free, he built up a shield on his skin and used it to gently push away the blob ghosts. The ghosts got the hint, and retreated, mostly invisible, to Danny’s bedroom. 

Good. Alright. 

Shower, first, then collapse. 

(Today had been _exhausting._ )

About half an hour later, Danny wandered into his room, the blob ghosts waiting for him. He had to shove them around a bit to make room for himself on his bed. 

He snuggled underneath his blankets, and the blob ghosts snuggled up next to him, their ruby eyes closed to pleased slits. Their not-weight and coolness were comforting against Danny’s skin. 

Too tired to stop it, Danny’s core began to purr. The ghosts’ whispering and muttering took on an edge of _giggling,_ and Danny glared at them playfully. They did not stop. 

“Hmmnh, are there _more_ of you?” asked Danny as a middle-sized one claimed a spot near the back of his neck. 

He had a theory (unconfirmed) that the blob ghosts and others that lived in his territory were somehow attuned to his emotional state. There always seemed to be more of them around when he was stressed or worn out. 

Not getting an answer, he hummed, almost at the same pitch as the blob ghosts, and managed to maneuver the largest so that he could hold it like a teddy bear. 

This was good. 

He went to sleep. 

.

“I’m going to go check on Danny,” said Maddie. 

“He’s probably asleep by now,” said Jack. 

“I know. We just pushed him really hard today, and then that explosion at the end...” She sighed. “Not the best way to convince the kids to join the family business.”

“Mhm,” said Jack. “Danny’s tough, though.”

“I know,” said Maddie. She sighed. “He was worn out from all the way in the morning, though. I hope he’s not staying up late playing video games again.”

“No way! He’s learned that lesson. I hope.”

“Yeah, we hope.” She patted Jack’s knee and pushed off the couch. “I’m still going to go check on him.”

She climbed the stairs, smiling at the soft music playing from Jazz’s ajar door. Sometimes she wished Jazz relaxed more, but it was also nice to see her studying. 

Danny’s door was firmly closed, but none of the bedroom doors had locks, so Maddie just turned the handle and pushed open the door. 

She froze immediately. 

The scene in front of her was something akin to finding her child asleep in a pit of snakes, only worse. Much worse. Snakes could kill you. Ghosts could do more. 

One of the many, many evilly glowing ghosts slithered up over Danny’s neck, making him shift slightly in his sleep. None of them had noticed her, yet. 

She couldn’t wake Danny. He’d panic, and then who knew what the ghosts would do? She couldn’t attack outright. Too many of them. She’d never get them all with the tiny hand blaster she kept on her person at all times. Even if she had something larger, she’d risk hitting Danny, and he sometimes had odd reactions to ectoplasmic discharge- some kind of allergy. Not to mention, the bigger guns were dangerous to humans in their own right, no matter that they tried to make their weapons nonlethal. 

No good options. 

What would the ghosts do when they saw her?

She backed away, keeping her footsteps light. She went to Jazz’s room.

“Jazz, sweetie?”

“Hm?” said Jazz, looking up from her desk.

“Go get your father. Tell him to come _quietly_. And bring the phasing net.”

“Um, okay? What’s going on?”

Just hurry,” said Maddie, “ _quietly.”_

_“_ Alright,” said Jazz, still dubious, but getting up nonetheless. “Is something wrong? Yes. Remember, quietly- No, leave your music on.”

“Okay,” said Jazz again. 

Maddie heaved a sigh of relief as she saw Jazz make her way down the stairs. 

Alright. 

She had... something of a plan. Almost. 

She wouldn’t let those filthy ghosts hurt her son.

.

Of all the ways to wake up, getting a net thrown on him was one of the worst. The blob ghosts were still on him, and, of course, their collective instinct was to phase away from the offending object, straight through his bed and floor, into the kitchen. They hit the table, still wrapped in the net. 

The blobs keened, and Danny tensed, holding off his transformation as he heard feet on the staircase. Jack and Maddie soon arrived. 

“Uh,” said Danny, squiggling so that he could wave at them through the net. “Hi?”

“You,” said Maddie, “you phased with the net.”

“Oops?”


	37. Chapter 37

Cosmic considered the small rectangle of paper in his hands. This was a photograph. A very small photograph. Maybe from one of those machines? The top and bottom edges looked like they’d been cut with scissors. 

More interesting to Cosmic were the three figures in the image. Two boys, one girl. Humans. They looked happy. Like they were having fun. They looked nice, especially the ones on the sides. It gave him a warm fuzzy feeling in his core. 

(Looking straight at the boy in the middle, though, made him feel just slightly... lost...)

(Best not to dwell on that.)

Why was a picture like this here, in Clockwork’s lair? It didn’t make sense. 

Well, the _easiest_ way to find out would be to ask Clockwork. 

Clockwork was... Cosmic tipped his head and tapped into his spatial powers, warping to Clockwork’s location. He tugged on his guardian’s cloak, and the older ghost shifted to his youngest form in lieu of bending over. 

Excited and curious, Cosmic showed him the picture. 

“Oh,” said Clockwork, gently taking the picture. “Where did you find this?”

Cosmic shrugged and gestured vaguely towards the library, where he’d seen the picture being used as a bookmark. 

(The odd thing was that the book itself had induced a strong sense of deja vu in him, even though he was quite certain he had never read it before.)

“I see,” said Clockwork, gravely. “This picture... this one...” He tapped the boy in the middle. “He was a friend of mine, once.”

There was a deep sadness in Clockwork’s voice, and Cosmic patted his shoulder consolingly. They were ghosts, and Clockwork was a very old ghost. He must have lost many friends of the eons of his existence. 

“Thank you for finding it,” said Clockwork. “Will you help me find a good place to put it?”

Cosmic nodded enthusiastically. 


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by grimgrinningghoul.

“Um,” said Danny, poking the ghost next to him with some trepidation. “Are you okay?” He’d gotten ahold of the ghost’s last, unfinished painting (which had involved more theft from museums than he’d been entirely comfortable with) and gotten them materials to boot (again, not easy. Some of the ingredients in their paint hadn’t been common for the last hundred or so years).

“It’s finished,” said the ghost in tones of awe. “I’m finally... finally done...”

“Yep,” said Danny. “This _was_ the last one, right? You don’t have any other, I don’t know, pencil sketches, lying around.”

“No, no,” said the artist faintly. “That’s it. That was the last. That’s all... That’s... I’m done.” The ghost laughed, skin sparkling. “I’m done!”

“Yeah,” said Danny. “But, like, are you okay?”

“I’m great!” said the ghost, looking up at the sky and spreading their arms. They laughed again. “I’m- I’ve never felt better!” The ghost was glowing so brightly they were almost impossible to look at and radiating so much ectoenergy Danny was almost dizzy. Danny shielded his eyes. “Thank you! Thank you so much!” 

When Danny could look again, all that was left of the ghost was glitter dancing on the breeze. And the painting. Which Danny should _really_ try to get back to the museum. Or something. 


	39. Petrichor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a tumblr prompt by ebonyheartnet.

The world ended on a Saturday, and it wasn’t Danny’s fault. Even if that Saturday happened to be his sixteenth birthday. 

Okay, maybe that was a bit overdramatic. But, honestly, neither he nor anyone else he’d ever spoken to knew why or how things had turned out this way. Just that, one morning, reality shook, shuddered, and took a few steps to the left. 

Humanity woke to green-streaked skies, a rainbow sun, and a lot more _universe_ than they were used to. So did ghosts. 

This was a problem. It might even be deemed _the_ problem. Humans and ghosts didn’t exactly get along, and even when neither the ghosts nor the humans involved particularly wanted to fight, the new laws of nature and the few who _did_ want to fight tended to ruin things for everyone else. (Cough, GIW, cough, Walker, cough.)

Hence the end of the world. Or, at least, most large-scale governments. 

It could have been worse.

Amity Park stopped being a city that day, fragmented with Ghost Zone wilderness, landscape and spatial dimensions shattered in a spiderweb centered on Fentonworks, the portal a wellspring of wild power and unpredictable translocations. Danny had worried that the portal had been the cause of the whole thing, but Amity Park was far from the only place with similar issues (look at _New York_ ), and Danny eventually was able to accept that not every bad ghost-related thing that happened was on him. 

(Probably.)

Honestly, once everything calmed down a bit, the new world was much more comfortable, physically and mentally, for Danny to live in. Which was _weird,_ but made sense. The new world was split between human and ghost, just like him. It was everyone else who was uncomfortable, now. 

Which, again, he felt guilty about, but, yeah. He couldn’t do anything about that, so feeling guilty was counterintuitive. Thank you, tiny Jazz in his head. 

It was Saturday again. Time for the market fair. 

“Mom and Dad are already out?” asked Danny, leaning over the banister. 

“Yeah,” said Jazz, not looking up from her work transcribing an old ghost text into something more palatable to human eyes. She adjusted her green lenses to sit closer to her eyes. “An hour or two ago. Some guys from Chicago came in last night, apparently, and they wanted to get a head start.”

“Okay,” said Danny. “I’m going, too. You want anything?”

“Nope. I’d be going myself if I did,” said Jazz. 

“You sure? Nothing for dinner?” 

“Nope, I’m all set.”

“Cool,” said Danny, padding towards the door. He pulled his nice, dark coat, the one he’d gotten from Dora, off the hook, and shrugged into it, pulling up the hood. 

“No shoes today?” asked Jazz, who had finally looked up. 

“Eh,” said Danny. “I guess not. Doesn’t really feel like a shoe kind of day.” He flexed his toes.

“Well, avoid blackberries, then,” said Jazz. 

“ _They_ should avoid _me,”_ joked Danny. “Good luck with that book!”

“Thanks,” said Jazz, waving as Danny left. 

Fentonworks was the same tall, brick-and-UFO building as it had always been, but now it stood alone on top of a small hill rising from a distinctly purple forest. The dark grass waved back and forth like the tentacles of a sea anemone. Bright green portal streaks, cracks in reality, stood out against the foliage, along with a few other buildings that had once belonged to the Fentons’ neighborhood. The sun was blue today, but Danny predicted it would be green by nightfall. 

Danny walked down the path, the dirt on it declining to adhere to Danny’s feet. He hummed, quietly, a tune he half-remembered from before the apocalypse. He would not be walking all the way to the market fair, it was too far. His parents had taken the Speeder. 

Danny, on the other hand, had a shortcut. 

He reached one of the portal-fractures and passed through to a part of the forest where the trees whispered to one another. He took a moment to reorient himself, and continued to the next portal fracture. 

As far as he knew, he was the only person who could reliably travel like this. He _could_ have flown, but the market fair was busy, and he preferred to maintain his peaceful life. Phantom was still a celebrity in Amity Park. Even more so now, than before, as ghosts were no longer shot on sight. 

Some ghosts even came to Amity Park’s market fair. 

He walked through a wider-than-usual fracture which deposited him just outside the main fragment of Amity Park, near the erstwhile mall. The mall and its attached parking lot being the place the market fair took place. 

It _was_ busy. There were trucks stamped with the seal of Illinois parked on the edges, presumably belonging to the delegation from Chicago. There seemed to be more ghosts than usual as well, enough of them to make Danny shiver. Had they come from Chicago, or was it just a coincidence? If they had, that would be nice. Chicago had a lot of local influence, and was one of the places that was still trying to hold together something like a national government. If they accepted ghosts, others would follow more readily. 

Peace between the two worlds in places other than Amity Park would be _very_ nice. 

Danny wandered down the paths of the market fair, not in any particular hurry to get to his parents’ booth. He was always more interested in the other things _at_ the fair. Even if he rarely bought anything. 

People seemed to be mostly moving in one direction. No, they were being drawn in one direction, with people tugging their companions onward. Danny, not having anything better to do, went with the flow. 

Which led back to where the Chicago delegation was set up. Several people were standing in front of the trucks, arguing. 

“How can you lose an entire bevy of ghosts?” demanded the man who appeared to be in charge. 

The target of his ire merely shrugged. 

“Can’t lose people like that, bub!” shouted someone from the crowd. There was a titter of laughter. 

“Didn’t you have a big, fancy announcement, fed?” 

More laughter. 

“Yeah, what did you want to say?” This voice had an echo to it, and the the man looked extremely aggrieved. 

Nevertheless, he took a deep breath. “We were led to believe,” he said, cheek jumping, “by certain ghosts, that there was a way to negotiate with the ghosts and... reverse this nonsense.”

Wow. So, Chicago got scammed. That could have repercussions. Danny hoped Amity Park wouldn’t see too much of the fallout. 

“Wouldn’t you jump on any chance to stop this?” demanded the man in response to the jeers, gesturing at the sky and its pulsing bands of light. 

“Tell us a better story!” shouted Ember, who had struck up a much more cordial relationship with Amity Park after the apocalypse. “One that we’ll remember!”

The man turned away, throwing his hands in the air. “Go find them!” he shouted, presumably to his subordinates. 

The crowd broke up. 

Danny was curious. It was one of his defining characteristics, both as a human and as a ghost. He followed one of the Chicagoans as they walked into the market turning this way and that. 

“So,” he said, “what story _was_ your boss fed?”

The woman jumped and looked down at him, disconcerted. (Yes, he was short. That wasn’t _his_ fault. Except that it probably was, via the portal accident.)

The woman sighed. “Why not, it’ll be out before too long. We were told that the rightful king of ghosts was in hiding here, or something stupid like that. I don’t think they ever said he could fix the world, even. Only that he could be negotiated with.” She kicked the ground. “This is so stupid. There’s no ghost king. This is never going to get fixed.”

“It’s not so bad, is it?” asked Danny. 

“How old even were you when it happened. Ten?” asked the woman. 

“Excuse me, I was sixteen,” said Danny, crossing his arms. 

“That’s cute,” said the woman, dragging her hand down her face. “You’re like thirteen, tops. Not nineteen. Jesus. Go bother someone else, kid.”

Danny rolled his eyes. “Well, you aren’t wrong that there’s no ghost king. Last guy who called himself that got beaten up and locked in a sarcophagus forever.”

Then, just to mess with her, because she’d been _rude_ , Danny turned invisible and left before she turned around. 

Now... He should probably try to warn people about the scam artist ghosts. Or would they know from the other people watching? 

Danny flicked back into visibility and continued perusing the various stalls, making small talk with the owners, bringing up the Chicagoans when it was appropriate. 

He was passing by the covered entrance of the mall, one of the most crowded spots in the market fair, when his ghost sense went off, indicating an unfamiliar ghost was nearby. He scanned the crowd for the ghost. He didn’t have to look very hard. Strange ghosts tended to draw eyes, even in Amity Park. 

Especially ones that looked like this. Inhumanly tall, cloaked, and moving smoothly. Glimpses under their hoods showed faces riddled with decay- or at least the appearance of decay. The three of them held instruments. Flute, drum, and summoning bell.

Danny stood to the side to let them pass. After all, they weren’t doing anything bad as far as he could see. 

They did not. Instead, they stopped in front of Danny. Typical. 

Then they started playing their instruments. And kneeling. 

Aaaand the crowd was getting bigger. There was the person from Chicago, too. Could he escape without turning invisible with all this attention on him?

Probably not without showcasing his ghost powers. There were people who knew him in this crowd. Like Paulina. And Star. 

“Um,” said Danny. “Hi?”

The leading ghost looked up as the sun’s light turned emerald green. 

“Blessings of rot and petrichor, my prince. May you have a home in the dark, and may the distant stars you reach for never fade.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Danny saw the Chicagoan’s jaw drop. 

“I think you might have the wrong guy,” said Danny. “I’m not anyone’s prince.”

The ghost grinned, sharp and white. “We came to give our blessings, my prince. You do not need to accept them for them to exist. We offer, also, our service and our hope in this new world that you are so suited for.”

Yeah. This was going to be a problem. 


	40. Chapter 40

This was beginning to become disturbing. And Valerie had a pretty high bar for what she considered ‘disturbing.’

Ghosts were not supposed to act this... _friendly..._ with hunters. Even Phantom didn’t act like this, no matter how much he insisted he and the hunters were on the same side. 

_This_ ghost also didn’t extend the behavior it displayed with Valerie to anyone else, ghost or human. Which was. Creepy. 

Getting gear from a human benefactor like Mr. Masters was one thing. Getting... stuff from a ghost was something else entirely. Having a ghost swoop in to ‘save’ her, one that wasn’t a pathological liar like Phantom was... At least Phantom had a _motive._

She didn’t like it. At all. She especially didn’t like how the ghost kept _complimenting_ her. Kept showing up no matter how many times she beat it up. 

Claimed that it had made her new suit. The one bonded to her body. The one that whispered static to her mind. 

She didn’t have a lot of places to turn to, when it came to ghost-related issues. Her Dad knew about the hunting, now, but he didn’t know about ghosts. Her first choice for info and aid would be Mr. Masters, but he was out of town, and she didn’t exactly have his phone number. 

That left the Fentons. 

.

“Perhaps it’s trying to possess you,” said Mrs. Fenton, taping electrodes to Valerie’s arm. “Can you try summoning your suit again?”

Valerie sighed, fixing her gaze on the Fenton’s stained kitchen wallpaper, but complied. She knew that telling the resident mad scientists about the weird ghost tech integrated into her body would result in some poking and prodding, but that didn’t mean she had to like it.

“Wow, Mads!” exclaimed Jack. “Get a look at these readings!”

“Oh, my,” said Maddie, leaning around Jack’s bulk to get a look at the readout screen. “That _is_ interesting.”

Valerie’s phone buzzed, her alarm going off. “I have to go,” she said. “If you figure out what the ghost wants, you have my number, right?”

“Er, yes,” said Maddie. “Although, I still stand by my first thought. Ghosts like to make you doubt yourself, to make you afraid, or uneasy. That’s what they feed on, and I doubt this one is intelligent enough to diverge from seeking that, even if it is going about it in a relatively novel way.”

“Right,” said Valerie, dubiously. She agreed that ghosts were evil, but mindless? Not a chance. 

She didn’t know what she’d expected to accomplish, here. 

“Thanks for your help,” she said. 

As soon as she got out the front door, she let herself sigh again. Hopefully, Mr. Masters would be back soon, and she’d be able to get some real help. 

“Hey.”

Valerie jumped, just barely keeping herself from summoning her suit in the middle of the street. 

“God, Danny, you can’t just sneak up on me like that.”

“Sorry,” said Danny, completely unrepentant. “Ghost stalker, huh? You know, my parents are _not_ the people you want to go to for that.”

“I thought they were the experts,” said Valerie, rolling her eyes and starting to walk home. 

“They are,” said Danny, keeping up with her easily. 

(He was cute when he was earnest.)

“They are,” he repeated, “but they’re experts in ghost technology. And ghost physics. And ghost biology. Stuff like that. Which is good for your suit and all,” he paused to jump up on the side of a planter and use it as a balance beam, “but not so much for the problem you asked about, which is more of a ghost culture thing.”

“Which you know about.”

“I do!” protested Danny. “Just because Mom and Dad don’t bother to actually talk to ghosts, that doesn’t mean that Jazz and I are like that.”

Valerie stopped. “Are you telling me you know why this ghost is following me?”

“If the ghost in question is Technus,” said Danny, “then, yes. Yes I do.”

“And are you going to _share_ that with me any time soon?”

“Yeah,” said Danny. “Just, keep an open mind, okay?”

“Danny, I swear, if you go on one of Sam’s ‘poor misunderstood creatures’ rants, I’m going to yeet you all the way back to your house. I’m stressed. I don’t want to deal with this.”

“Technus is trying to adopt you.”

Slowly, Valerie inserted her pinky into her ear and rotated it, trying to clear out the wax that had clearly built up without her knowing. 

“No, really,” said Danny, his tone that of barely suppressed glee. “It’s a thing adult ghosts do with ghosts that are kids, because usually there aren’t too many kid ghosts. I guess with your suit you’re ghostly enough to count.”

Valerie suppressed a shiver at being called ghostly at _all_. “How do you even know that?”

“I talk to ghosts about things.”

“About adoption practices.”

Danny shrugged. “It came up.”

“Great. How do I make ‘Technus’ _stop_?”

“No idea. Nothing I’ve done seems to work. But who knows? Maybe Technus is different.”

“Different from-? Danny, what are you saying?”

“Well,” said Danny tucking his hands behind his back and looking up at the sky. “You’ve seen our house and our lab. If you’re ghostly because of a suit you’ve had for a few months, what do you think I’m like?”

“Do your parents know?”

“Nope. I’d like to keep it that way, if it’s all the same to you. And I can help you navigate Technus. If you want.”

Valerie scowled. “You think this is funny.”

“Of course I do! I think it’s great that someone else has to deal with this. It’s not dangerous, though. You can literally just humor him. Might get him to stop attacking so often, even.”

“You’re joking.”

“Nope,” said Danny. 

Valerie pinched the bridge of her nose. “Ghosts have done this to you, too?” she asked, because she needed to know for sure.

“Yep. So, do you want help or no?”

Valerie hesitated. “This doesn’t mean we’re dating again.”

Danny frowned. “Why would it?”

“No reason. Tell me what you know.”


	41. Chapter 41

He was walking at the edge of the surf. If he stopped for too long, he started to sink into the fine black sand. He was walking south, towards the sickle-thin curve of a winter moon, the black sea reflecting flashes of white to his right. To his left, the landscape was equally dark. He could barely see the path before him, and he knew that if he tried to leave the strip of sand where the waves touched and receded, lapping at his ankles, something bad would happen. 

Had... something bad already happened? He didn’t remember, but his head echoed with pain. 

Where... where was he?

There was someone standing in front of him. He stopped. Water rushed over his feet, and he felt the sand start to give way beneath him. 

“Daniel Fenton.”

“Yes?” said Danny. He knew this person, he felt, though from where... That was a mystery. He saw a boat behind them, and vaguely realized the moon he’d been following was, in fact, the gleam off the blade of their scythe. “Am I supposed to go with you?” he asked.

The person looked first to the sea, then to the land. Then they looked up. Danny followed their gaze, idly picking out stars. He wondered why they weren’t sinking while he was. Thinking about it too hard hurt his head, though, so instead he focused on the not-entirely-unpleasant sensation of wet sand encasing his ankles. 

A hand descended on Danny’s shoulder. “It’s your choice,” said the person. “But it appears that you’ve found a third option, so to speak.”

Danny pulled himself free of the sand. It was easier this time than before. 

“I think I’ll stay here, then,” he said. He didn’t like the look of the water. Wasn’t there some kind of rule against going boating at night? It was dangerous, or something. “I have things to do.” Surprisingly, this was true. 

The person nodded. “Be careful, Daniel Fenton. Little Phantom.”

“Thanks,” said Danny, absently. “You too.”

The the pain hit him. And the green light. And the screaming. And the faint scent of burnt hair and plastic and-

He was in the portal and he had to get out. 

(The dark beach was never quite forgotten.)


	42. Incursion

Mr. Lancer chewed on the end of his pen. It was a disgusting habit, he knew, but he could never quite get himself to kick it, especially when he had a problem to confront. 

Said problem was, presently, that enough of his students had expressed an interest in careers in ectology and paranormal science that he really _had_ to give them a relevant field trip. Unfortunately, there were very few reputable options for such a field trip. The Fentons were unsafe, Axion Labs refused to give tours, the GIW were essentially a government sponsored hate group. Most other ‘ghost hunting agencies’ were outright scams. 

But there had to be _something_ nearby. Or at least in the state. Maybe not something that explicitly or solely dealt with ghosts, but _something._

Maybe...

Oh!

He shifted to sit straighter in his chair. That would work. He started typing an email.

.

“We got a what?” repeated Johannsson. 

“A field trip request,” repeated Deer. 

“Like... from a school?” asked Johannsson, cautiously. 

“A high school,” confirmed Deer, sounding rather stunned. 

“Do they... know what we do here?” 

“Evidently,” said Deer. 

“Like, they know we research magic and telepathy and stuff.”

“Yes.”

“And astral projection, higher-dimensional beings, alternate universes, that kind of thing? Fringe science?”

“He says the junior class is interested in the ‘paranormal sciences.’”

“Wow,” said Johannsson, finally bringing his coffee up to his mouth and sipping at it cautiously. “Where,” he started, “where are they from?”

“Um,” said Deer, peering at her computer screen. “Casper High. One sec.” She started typing. “It’s in Amity Park? Do you think it’s a joke?”

“Ah,” said Johannsson. “No, that tracks, actually, if it’s Amity Park. We’ve got some weird readings on file from there, if you look it up.”

“It’s close,” said Deer. “If we get readings, why don’t we have a presence there?”

“Another agency called dibs first,” said Johannsson. “We have enough trouble. No need to step on toes.”

Deer looked up at Johannsson incredulously. “We fight eldritch abominations from the edge of reality,” she said. “Is the boss really worried about _stepping on toes_?”

“Hey, that’s how we get funding,” said Johannsson, shrugging. “We don’t want to end up like MKUltra.”

“MKUltra was a scam, Steve. And also mostly illegal.”

“Yeah?”

Deer shrugged. “Anyway, should I send this on, or...?”

“Yeah, go ahead. The boss will probably get a kick out of it, if nothing else.”

.

“I would not have told the boss about this if I knew I’d be the one babysitting a bunch of teenagers,” said Deer through a clenched smile. She jerked on the hem of her blouse, not used to the more formal clothes she was wearing on this momentous occasion. 

“Yeah,” said Johannsson, “but it isn’t like we get a lot of people coming into this profession _for_ this profession. And they’re kids. So be nice.”

“I’m always nice,” grumbled Deer. 

“Well, look like it,” said Johannsson, elbowing her. He caught sight of the yellow school bus. “Here they come now.”

They waited until most of the students had gotten off the bus to approach. 

“Hi,” said Johannsson, “you must be Mr. Lancer.”

“That’s me,” said the rather frazzled-looking teacher. “Come on kids, let’s get settled down. Listen to our guides. Let them introduce themselves.”

“Yeah, hey,” said Johannsson, waving. “Welcome to the Edge Institute, where we study that which is unknown and often thought to be impossible.”

“Hi,” said Deer, frowning at one group of students in particular. Johannsson followed her eyes. 

The trio in question didn’t seem particularly out of the ordinary. Except... Well, there was a reason Deer worked here. 

“I’m Steve Johannsson,” he said, getting back on track. “This is Sylvia Deer. We mostly work in report processing and assessment, but that brings us into contact with all our other departments, so we’re more than suited to show you around.”

Sylvia put her thumbs up. “Yep,” she said. 

“Most of what we work with isn’t terribly dangerous, however, there are exceptions to that rule, and we have some classified projects, so don’t wander off. Stay within view of us at all times.”

“What if we need to use the bathroom?” asked a student.

“Well, that’s different,” admitted Johannsson. “We’ve got a couple scheduled stops, so make sure you go at those times. Other than that, don’t go through any doors we don’t open for you and don’t touch anything without asking first. Got it?”

There was a soft murmur of assent. 

“Come on, kids,” said Mr. Lancer, clapping, “he asked a question.”

The murmur became slightly more unanimous. 

“Right,” said Deer. She jerked her head towards the building. “Let’s go.”

“Anyway,” said Johannsson, “this is reception, which is the only part of the building freely open to the general public. If you _do_ need to go to the bathroom, they’re right there. We’re going to hang out here for a few minutes, get everyone taken care of.”

Most of the students made their way to the restrooms immediately, however, that one trio stayed put. 

“Hey,” said the smallest of the group, “do you guys hear that?”

“Hear what?” asked Johannsson.

“Um,” said the boy, slightly rocking forward on the balls of his feet, “there’s, like, an alarm or a siren going off? It’s really faint, but is everything okay?”

“We’d get a text,” said Deer. “Not to mention an announcement on the PA system.”

“And the radios,” said Johannsson, tapping his. 

“Right,” said Deer, nodding. “Maybe you have tinnitus or something?”

“Isn’t that recurrent, though?” asked Johannsson. “He’d know if he had it.”

“I do not have tinnitus,” said the boy, firmly. “I really think there’s an alarm going off. Or maybe someone has a mosquito ringtone. Gosh, I hate those...”

Johannsson glanced at Deer and noted that she, once again, was staring at the children rather intensely. Mostly at the boy, but that made sense since he was the one speaking. 

“Danny has good hearing,” said the girl, who was decked out in an array of gothic and mystic symbols. One which, on closer inspection, would probably be fairly effective at passive protection. 

Johannsson wondered if that was the result of research, intuition, or sheer luck. 

Perhaps that was why Deer was looking at them like that?

“Maybe I’m just imagining it,” said Danny, shaking his head. “Let’s go to the bathrooms. There’s probably a line by now.”

Once the kids were gone, and Johannsson and Deer were more or less alone in the entry hall, Johannsson turned to Deer. “Think we should call Detection?”

“Yeah,” said Deer, pulling out her phone. “There’s something not right, here.”

“Maybe he’s a sensitive?” suggested Johannsson. “He could be picking up a project.”

“Or maybe he’s like you and he’ll break every piece of tech invented in the last twenty-five years as soon as he touches it. Or he was cursed by a goddess, like Vicky in Containment. Or maybe he just has tinnitus and is in denial. I still don’t like this.” She finished dialing Detection and brought the phone to her ear. “Hey, I-” She pulled the phone away, glared at it and cautiously brought it back. “What’s going on? An incursion? Then why aren’t we on lockdown?”

Johannsson’s blood ran cold. “An incursion? How big?”

Deer held up a hand. “That doesn’t- You _know_ we can’t detect everything! It doesn’t matter if nothing else gets triggered, the protocol is lockdown until we can determine- If you had _done your job,_ the kids would still be on the damn bus!”

At this point, Deer’s shouts had drawn the attention and worry of Mr. Lancer and several of the students who had emerged from the bathrooms. 

“Is everything alright?” asked the man. 

Johannsson glanced at Deer. “No,” he decided, just before the security shutters slammed down and the emergency lighting came on. “I’m really sorry,” he said, “but it seems like some of our colleagues were overly excited about your tour and didn’t, er, follow proper procedure following a, uh, event. So-”

The PA system stuttered into life. “Attention. A level seven entity has been detected. All nonessential personnel, please proceed to the nearest shelter. Repeat-”

“Seven?” echoed Johannsson, starting to sweat. “ _Seven_?”

“It’s _probably_ a false alarm,” said Deer, putting away her phone and smiling in the way only people who feel very ill do. “None of the other incursion detectors went off. No radiation associated with dimensional breaks or anything. We should still get everyone to a shelter. Maybe you can round up everyone from the bathrooms?”

“Right,” said Mr. Lancer, who was enviably calm. 

“Is an entity like a ghost or something?” asked one of the kids, who clearly weren’t grasping the gravity of the situation. “How strong is a seven?”

Level seven entities couldn’t be described in terms of strength alone. They were eldritch, uncaring gods that tore at the fabric of reality with their very presence, creatures that had no business being on the material plane. They shed bright magic and dark science in their wake, leaving those unfortunate enough to see them grappling with madness that was _not_. 

He really wanted to know what was happening in Amity Park (ghosts?) that made these people so blasé about the alarms, flashing lights, and security shutters. 

Wait a second. 

He unclipped his radio from his belt. “This is Johannsson, calling detection. Can you describe the signal to me? Over.”

The radio crackled. “Slowly rising over the last thirty minutes, peaking and plateauing in the last ten. Why? Do you have something? Over.”

The bus had arrived ten minutes ago. Johannsson closed his eyes. “Maybe. Will inform. Over and out.”

He looked over at the bathroom where Danny and his two friends were emerging. Danny had his hands pressed over his ears. Whenever the overhead lights flashed off, the boys eyes reflected green. Just for a second. 

Yeah. Johannsson had something. The question was, what was he going to do about it?


	43. Your Own Funeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another tumblr prompt, this one from annakreis42.

“Um,” said Danny, surprised to find many of the ghosts he knew (’knew’ meaning anything from ‘fought occasionally’ to ‘had an actual friendship with’) camped out in the main hallway of Casper High. Wearing suits and black dresses and... whatever _that_ was. Along with various refreshments. “What’s going on?”

The humans present (a few students and teachers) looked, if possibly, even more bewildered than Danny. And at least a little freaked out. 

“Phantom! You’re here!” said Skulker, gleefully. 

Danny tightened his grip on his backpack, his glove squeaking against the strap. He probably should have left it outside, but he’d been distracted by the unusually large reaction of his ghost sense and barreled in, prepared to fight to protect his fellow students. 

“Yes,” said Danny, slowly. 

“Great!” said Skulker. He gestured to a large, open, _extremely_ gothic black and white coffin. “Get in.”

“No,” said Danny, immediately. 

“But you’re the guest of honor!” objected Poindexter. 

“When we heard you hadn’t ever had a funeral,” said Dora, tearfully, holding an extravagantly embroidered handkerchief to her eye, “we just had to come and properly mourn you! What kind of friends would we be, otherwise?”

“Well,” said Danny, now feeling like an ungrateful lug. “Thanks. But I’m not getting into a coffin.” He’d defeated a guy by pushing him into a coffin, once. Well, a sarcophagus. 

The ghosts stared at him. 

“But,” said Technus, “it’s your funeral, ghost child!”

“Yeah... I’m just. Not sure what the point of throwing a party for me is, if I’m just going to lay in a coffin the whole time.”

“It’s a casket, actually,” said Poindexter. 

“Okay,” said Danny. “I’m not- That doesn’t really change anything?” Now that the general shock was wearing off, he was beginning to feel rather upset about all of this. 

“Phantom,” said Dash, softly, “you didn’t have a funeral?” He sounded like he was about to cry. 

“No memorial at all,” confirmed- Wait, no, that was Amorpho. He’d gotten better, but seeing him as Spectra was a _trip._

(He was, however, quite glad that the real Spectra was absent.)

“I don’t- That doesn’t particularly bother me,” said Danny. “I mean, this is really nice of you guys, I mean it, but... You really, _really_ didn’t have to. And I’m not getting in a casket.”

“But it’s your funeral! The casket is an important part” 

Danny threw up his hands. “Are you planning to bury me, too? _That’s_ usually an important part of a funeral.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. None of the ghosts would meet his eyes. Except Skulker, who grinned very widely. 

Walker stepped forward, his grim outline ruined by the small clear plastic cup full of fizzing punch. “Phantom,” he intoned, grimly, “it’s part of the rules.”

“No,” said Danny, “absolutely not.”

“We knew you’d say that,” said Walker, nodding gravely. 

Danny squinted at Walker. “Are you drunk? At my funeral?”

Walker pointed at him. “Catch this varmint, folks,” he said. 

Danny was good at fighting. _Really_ good at fighting. Even so, he couldn’t fight _almost all the ghosts he knew_ at once. 

At least, Danny mused, as he glared at the horrible, pocked-tile school hallway ceiling, the casket was comfortable, even if he was wrapped in some of Skulker’s rope. Oh. And school was canceled, on account of the slightly drunk ghosts, so he wouldn’t get in trouble for missing class.

(They’d untie him before burying him, so he could phase out. Probably.)

(He’d figure something out if they didn’t.)


	44. education

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a tumblr prompt~

Phantom is nervous. 

If he’s honest, he isn’t really sure why he’s here- Or, for that matter, what ‘here’ is. It doesn’t feel like home. 

He rubs at his gloves, feeling them slide over the cold flesh beneath. There are patterns on them, shimmering starbursts and lightning strikes that are only visible in the right lightning. 

He’s in a waiting room. 

It isn’t like any waiting room he’s ever seen before, but that’s what it is. The walls are _carved._ The chairs are upholstered in emerald velvet. Decorations sparkle with jewels and precious metals. 

It’s still a waiting room, and Phantom is waiting. 

The door opens. Phantom looks up at the scowling, one-eyed visage of one of the ghosts who had pulled him away from the wreckage and... _it._ At least, he thinks it is one of those ghosts. He had seen others who looked similar. Almost identical, really. As if to illustrate this point, two more of those ghosts emerged. 

Phantom stiffened. They hadn’t been cruel, but they hadn’t been kind, either, and they had refused to explain anything that was happening. 

“Does he really not remember anything?” asked one of them. 

“Evidently not,” said another. 

“Does that surprise you?”

Phantom liked this voice more. It belonged to Clockwork, who was kind. Sort of. Even if he seemed to be subordinate to the other ghosts. 

The eternally shifting ghost briefly touched Phantom’s shoulder as he passed. Acknowledgement. 

“Most do forget, when they pass on,” said Clockwork. 

“But he was different,” said one of the others. They had shuffled themselves, and Phantom was no longer sure which was which. 

“Not different enough.”

“He cannot rule like this.”

“And yet he must,” replied Clockwork. “You know the law. The Right of Conquest.”

The ghosts didn’t seem to like that. Phantom shrunk back in his seat. 

“We can find someone new in the same way.”

“I cannot stop you,” said Clockwork. “But he did defeat Pariah Dark. Do you think he will remember you kindly, if in his infancy you torment him by throwing him into war? If his ignorance is what bothers you, let him learn, as all young things must.”

Maybe Clockwork _wasn’t_ their subordinate? But he had done everything they had said, before. 

“In the wild?” said one of them, scandalized. 

Clockwork sighed. “We do have _schools_ , you know.”

.

“But how will I breathe?” asked Phantom, staring down at the vast expanse of water beneath his feet. 

“You don’t breathe, Phantom,” said Clockwork.

“Oh,” he said, frowning. That was right. Actually, no one he knew needed to breathe. So where had he gotten the idea? More pressingly... “Do I need to do this?”

“The Drowned Quarter is home to some of the finest educational facilities in the Infinite Realms.” He paused. “Also, the Observants hate getting wet, so they won’t bother you while you’re studying.”

Phantom brightened. Literally. “Okay,” he said. “And they can teach me how to be a good king and help people?”

“I certainly hope so,” said Clockwork. 


	45. mother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a tumblr post.

“Could you possibly repeat that last one?” asked the Mother, pleasantly. ‘Pleasant’ was, after all, the tone she defaulted to when she was shocked. 

Clockwork complied. 

The Mother raised her hand slightly from where it had been flat against the table. “Allow me to summarize,” she said, “to see if I understand. At the behest of the Observants, you caused a child, who had at the time been dead for less than a year, to fight a fusion of himself and his enemy. A fusion who presented itself as him, despite having essentially nothing in common with him in terms of Obsession? Despite having an _opposed_ Obsession?”

Clockwork nodded. “It was the most efficient solution. Although, I would have preferred to find one that was less traumatic.” He sipped at his tea. “Unfortunately, the involvement of the Observants made that difficult.”

“And you have been letting older ghosts attack him with impunity?”

“You know I dislike limiting choices, Mother,” he said. “Besides, Daniel can handle it, and he knows he can come to me if things get to be too much. In any case, my understanding is that many of those ‘attacks’ come from a place of concern.” Clockwork sighed. “It _is_ his choice, but Amity Park is not the most healthy environment.”

“Right,” said the Mother. “Do you mind if I borrow him for, oh, perhaps a year or so?”

“That’s such a short time,” said Clockwork. “Are you sure you don’t want him for longer? I know you had Desiree under your wing for decades.”

“Yes, and I should speak to her about all this, too. She is one of the ones attacking Phantom, correct?”

“She is only playing,” said Clockwork. “She changes things only when someone says ‘wish’ in her hearing.”

“Phantom is an infant.”

“He’s fourteen.”

The Mother raised her eyebrow. 

“That’s only four years shy of the age at which his people mark majority,” said Clockwork, defensively. 

“Yes,” said the Mother. They stared at one another for a long moment. They both decided to drink their tea.

“If you do decide to keep him longer, however, I would appreciate it if you brought him to visit now and again. I fear I have become… rather attached.”

“Sure,” said the Mother. 

She made a mental note to _speak_ to the Observants. Their method of raising Clockwork clearly hadn’t done him any good.

.

Danny felt the way he always did when his brain and his core decided to have a _disagreement_ about how to react to something: bad. 

Although, for the (un)life of him, he couldn’t figure out _why._ The ghost in front of him was powerful, he could feel it on his skin, but she didn’t appear to be particularly hostile or disturbing. 

Actually, he decided, he sort of wanted to approach her and-

A wave of nameless dread overcame him.

Maybe this was just her power, he thought, still hiding behind the corner of the building. Maybe it made her feel different to humans and ghosts. 

He bit his lip. She wasn’t hurting anyone, sitting there on the park bench. He didn’t like to fight if he didn’t have to. Maybe he should just leave her alone. 

Yeah...

Then she looked straight at him and smiled. 

He slipped out from his (admittedly subpar) hiding place. “Hi,” he said, waving awkwardly. 

“Hello,” said the ghost. 

“Um,” said Danny, “Mother, what are you doing here?” He slapped his hands over his mouth. That was _not_ what he had meant to say. 

“I’m picking you up,” said the ghost (the Mother). “You’re going to be staying with me for a while.”

.

Right, so, Danny had been kidnapped (spirited away) to the Ghost Zone before. This was, however, the first time he’d just... gone _along_ with it. 

The ghost (the Mother?) (Mother?) ruffled his hair. Even though he didn’t want to be touched and she was _~~not~~_ his Mother, the sensation soothed something inside him, and he leaned into it. 

“First things first,” she said, “let’s go somewhere nonthreatening, and I can tell you what’s going on, alright?”

Danny, stubbornly, didn’t respond. 

“You like milkshakes right?”

Oh, Ancients, this was going to be weird, wasn’t it?


	46. Skybound

Even without using any power but flight, Danny was all but invisible against the sky. Camouflaged. Shadowless blue against blue. A tiny splinter of color against clouds.

Skylocked, skyshard, they called him. Explorer. Celestial child, and-

He could feel it when the clouds rolled in. Moisture and mist against his skin, their patterns undulating and coiling up his arms and legs and neck like tattoos. The thunderstorms might set his heart twitching, but his scars lit up blue-white and yellow and palest purple. 

High enough, the atmosphere tasted like ice, and that was what lay on his tongue when the ghosts came and they wondered-

Why was he _staying_ here? Skytouched. Windswept. Explorer. Could he not see the open world before him and behind? Did the mysteries beyond and above the horizon not beckon? And-

They did. They did and it hurt, his home a barbed-wire wrapped anchor tied to his ankle and he was _bleeding._ He suffocated on the ground and under air, the fingers of buildings that barely scratched the sky reaching higher than he dared. 

_His responsibility._

How could he open more doors?

But- How could he stay earthbound when he could fly high enough to see the earth curve away beneath him, all boundaries washed away as human imagination? How could he be satisfied with imagination when he could have truth? Satisfied with the shattered-diamond patterns on his skin when he could have the stars themselves?

He didn’t know how much longer he could do this.


	47. normal

Danny didn’t know when he realized it. Maybe he always knew, since he was very small. Maybe it came to him all of a sudden, later, and it just made so much sense that he couldn’t truly conceive of _not_ knowing. Maybe he was lying to himself. 

His parents weren’t normal. 

To be fair, neither were he and Jazz, even from a young age, but... His parents weren’t normal _at all._

~~When was the last time he saw them eat something other than fudge and cookies?~~

Jazz took care of the cooking, most days. Their parents stayed in the lab. Working, always working. Money came in from patents, came in suitcases carried by men in crisp black suits. Danny knew what a Geiger counter was before he was five. 

He knew to be careful. So did Jazz, but she liked to ignore it, to play it off as nothing. Someday, he knew, if things kept going the way they were, Jazz would convince herself that all the little things were fantasy. Imagination. 

She’d move away and burn so brightly with light and passion that she’d blind herself to the shadows she once lived in. She’d go to an Ivy League school and become a psychologist, or a neurologist, or a psychiatrist, or a brain surgeon. She would be _great._ She would shift paradigms. 

She would never forget him. Danny wasn’t afraid of that. But unless he shone just as brightly, unless he burned the memories from his mind just the same, she would never _see_ him anymore. 

He wanted to become an astronaut. 

Dad laughed when he heard that. He sewed Danny a custom suit- not like Jazz’s, which was just a smaller version of Mom’s- the next day. White, like an astronaut, he’d said. 

Black for good luck. ~~And something else that skittered in the back of Danny’s brain.~~

Danny loved them, their parents. But they weren’t normal. 

He looked up silver allergies online, once. They weren’t like that. And normal people didn’t shy away from the sun on their skin. 

Normal people didn’t talk about wars that weren’t in any history book, or about the best way to butcher a horse. They didn’t have dozens of blue glass eyes in the bottom drawer of every cabinet they owned. Their holiday dinners didn’t come to life and menace the neighborhood. 

Once, when he was ten, he thought they might be vampires. But looking up the folklore and going deep, deep, touching the past, he saw that all the monsters that went bump in the night- and no few benevolent things too- borrowed traits, powers, and weaknesses from one another. 

Once, on the first day of spring, a ring of mushrooms rose up to circle Fentonworks completely. Mom harvested them and fried them in butter. Jazz refused to eat them, saying they might be poisonous. Dad ate a plate of fudge. Mom smiled as Danny ate every last one. It was the most normal meal Danny had for years before or after. 

The portal was a project of passion. Of something like desperation. Of hope. 

For all that they professed to hate ghosts, sometimes Danny wondered if they weren’t trying to get back home.

Mom and Dad weren’t normal. ~~What did that make Danny and Jazz?~~

(Once upon a time he cut his hands open to see if he bled red and he doesn’t remember what he found out but after Dash he’s sure he bleeds red _now._ )

Danny wanted to see it. He wanted to let _them_ see it, bring back their life and spirit. Let them know that it didn’t matter that Dad was a mountain of a man that looked even taller and broader out of the corner of his eye, or that he hadn’t seen Mom’s eyes in a year and didn’t remember their color, or that whatever they used for bath salts made Danny dizzy. He wanted to show them that he loved them and he wanted to help. 

The portal beckoned. He put on his astronaut-white ~~and death-black~~ jumpsuit and walked in. This felt right, down to the electric tension in the air and the faint chill of the wall through his glove. 

It wasn’t normal, to put the on button for something like this on the _inside._

(Danny’s parents weren’t normal.)

 _Danny_ wasn’t normal. 

No one normal fought the undead in back alleys, or laid awake at night trying to hold onto life hard enough to keep from falling through their bed. No one normal could taste emotions on the air and drink them in. No one normal could walk through a blizzard with bare feet and think how lovely the day was, or feel electricity brewing in their bones as the lightning storm raged. 

But that was later. 

He woke in his parents’ arms, to gentle crooning. He woke to the flavor of joy that wasn’t his and colors too vivid to be real. He woke. 

Had Mom’s eyes always been purple? He couldn’t remember. But the shape was familiar, and they crinkled happily at the corners. He couldn’t help but smile back. 

Danny wasn’t normal. Neither were his parents. They weren’t the _same_ kind of not-normal, and that made Danny’s teeth hurt, sometimes, especially after his fangs grew in, but-

But. 

Who could divide a fairy, from a ghost, from a revenant, from a lich? Who marked out the boundaries between dwarves, goblins, trolls, giants? How did an elf differ from any of these things, when elf might be tall or short, spiritual or just shy of human? The roots of the stories were tangled, no matter how neatly the gardeners trimmed the plants. 

Danny’s story was that of a hero ~~of a monster~~. But the first hero was Gilgamesh, and no one would call _him_ that, now. 

And for his parents-

For his sister-

For his _family-_

A _normal_ story simply didn’t suit them at all.


	48. Ghost Fish

They looked like neon tetras, or zebrafish, in shape and pattern, except that their size ranged from less than an inch long to twice as long as Danny was tall. Their stripes glowed with bright, candy-vivid colors. Their scales were transparent, their skeletons luminous. 

Danny held his breath as they flowed around him, brushing against him. Several of the smaller ones swam through his hair as if it were some kind of seaweed. It probably looked like that, waving as it was in the faint ectoplasmic current of the Ghost Zone. 

The massive school of fish made their own silvery-bright river through the green sky. Danny wondered if they were going to spawn somewhere, or if this was just how they were all the time. 

No, the ghost that pointed him this way said it was a migration. That implied a purpose of some sort, a regularity. At least, it did when it came to earth animals. 

He should probably stop standing in their way, though, no matter how cool it looked. 

(He did not notice the small fish hiding in his hair until he got home. Under the lights of his bedroom it almost looked normal.)

(He started looking up fish tanks online.)


	49. Vampire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on an anon tumblr prompt.

Marcellus Ellsworth arrived in Amity Park well after sunset. True, he was powerful enough that he need not fear the sun, but one did not live as long as he by tempting fate. 

Even if it was rumored that his current quarry, despite being painfully young, could also walk in daylight.

No matter. One such as he would not be hiding on a night such as this. Not when hunger would inevitably drive him to hunt. To have enough self-control not to attack the humans he evidently interacted with so often, he would have to feed regularly. 

The question was, where would he be?

Marcellus directed his driver to stop with a rap on the dividing window. Marcellus couldn’t very well find the child without venturing beyond the blacked out windows of the limousine. 

The child. Not for the first time, Marcellus wondered how such a thing came to be in a city so far off the beaten path for their kind. Did a loner make Amity Park their home, and finally break under the pressures of isolation? Or did a traveler pass through, fall to their hunger and, in a fit of either remorse or generosity, bestow a blood gift on their victim?

Well, either way, Marcellus was confident in his ability to benefit from the situation. A new child, from a different bloodline, in his debt would be a great boon. An ally in the form of the loner would be as well. 

He stepped out into the night. It was quiet. Not much nightlife in this city. At least, not here. He nodded to the driver. The man would be ready when he called. 

Marcellus turned towards the town’s public part. Although he himself found the practice distasteful, many of the young went for the low-hanging fruit: the homeless. 

As he got nearer, he made note of the benches. Only one was occupied. The occupant seemed to fit the description he had been given, however, it would be better to wait for more evidence. He’d hate to be forced to kill someone simply because he’d acted hastily. He settled in the shadows. 

For a long while, nothing happened. Then, for just a moment, the figure on the bench seemed to flicker and vanish. Marcellus smiled. That was an unusual ability to be sure. A _valuable_ ability. His smile only grew wider when the boy yawned, displaying dentition that never belonged to a human. 

Marcellus stepped out of the shadows and approached the bench. “Greetings, child,” he said. 

“Um, hi,” said the boy looking up from the book he’d been reading and waving. “What’s up?”

The new idiom. Lovely.

“You have made quite a stir,” said Marcellus. “I had to come see what all the fuss was about.”

The boy tilted his head, brow drawn down. “Excuse me?”

Marcellus smiled, revealing his fangs. “You need not dissemble. I know what you are as well as I know my own nature.”

“Do you,” said the boy, skeptically, sliding away from Marcellus. 

“Indeed. Tell me, did your sire leave you to face the hunger all on your own, or are they hiding in this city even now? Regardless, considering how little guidance they seem to have given you, I believe we can assist one another.”

The boy blinked at him. “Oh,” he said, finally, “you’re a vampire.”

Marcellus had hoped the boy would be cleverer than this. No matter. 

“Yes, like you are, yourself, young one.”

“But I’m not,” said the boy, calmly. He closed his book and set it to the side. “A vampire, I mean.” The boy looked up, meeting Marcellus’ gaze.

Marcellus raised an eyebrow, then froze as the boy’s eyes shone green. 

Ah. That. That was not something his kind could usually do. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” said the boy, a kind of hollow echo in his voice. 

Marcellus had heard of these. Had heard from his elders of creatures they had dared not to cross. Of the reason some certain places and towns were forbidden to their kind. 

“You should leave.” This pronouncement was said in a much more normal voice, the boy looing away again. “If you hurt anyone, I’ll know.”

 _And you’ll regret it,_ was unspoken. 

Marcellus nodded and backed away.

Well. He might not have gotten what he wanted, but as one of his old teachers used to say, any situation he could walk away from could be considered a sort of success. 


	50. exorcise exercise

Valerie stared at her phone and then at the building in front of her, then at her phone again, and wondered how the _hell_ she could have forgotten the address of this place. 

This had to be a joke. Who in their right mind would _buy Fentonworks?_

The realtor would have _told_ them it was haunted. That, after the Fentons, years ago, no family had made it longer than a month in the house. But they still would have sold it, because, hey, the sellers didn’t want to be stuck with the taxes on it forever. 

She almost turned around and left. Nothing she did would fix that house. 

Even so, maybe she could convince the family to leave, and keep anything from... clinging to them. Plus, she needed the money. 

She climbed the steps, feeling her suit buzzing under her skin as if in warning. She shushed it irritably. These days, she tried not to use it so much. There were consequences, she’d learned, to accepting ‘gifts’ from ghosts. Or billionaires. Or billionaire ghosts. 

Yeah. 

The doorbell was one of those novelty ones, sold for tourists who came to see the most haunted city in the world, but it made her brain itch. It was too similar to the one the Fentons had originally had. 

She pressed it anyway. 

God, it even _sounded_ like-

All thought stopped dead as _Danny Fenton_ opened the door. 

“Hi, Val!” he said, cheerfully. “You know, you’re _really_ difficult to get ahold of.”

Valerie blinked. “Shouldn’t you be older?”

“That’s what you open with?” He rolled his eyes. “ _Some_ of us can age gracefully. Amikoj!” he called, over his shoulder. “Valerie estas ĉi tie!” He turned back to Valerie and stepped away from the door, grinning. “Come on in.”

Valerie didn’t move. “You’re supposed to be dead,” she said. 

Danny scratched his ear. “See, that’s what I _thought_ you’d say first.”

“You’re a ghost,” she said. “You’re _dead.”_

 _“_ Okay, one, you deal with ghosts literally all the time, this shouldn’t be a shock, and _two,_ for legal purposes, I am not dead. I pay taxes and everything. You going to stand out there all night, or are you going to have dinner with us?”

“ _Us?”_ repeated Valerie, high-pitched. 

“The whole family’s here,” said Danny. 

“You,” said Valerie. “You hired me to _exorcise_ you.”

“Don’t feel too bad if you can’t,” said Danny. “We’ll still pay you. It’ll be good exercise for all of us.” Danny laughed at his own joke. 

Valerie nodded stiffly. Yep. That was Danny alright. 

She stepped into the house. 


	51. Decapitation

Stitches lined the crease of Danny’s neck, just under the chin. Danny had to tilt his head back to see them properly in the mirror. Hesitantly, he raised his hands and let his fingertips brush against the seam. It reminded Danny of the stitching on a baseball, but several steps to the left. Too supple. Too flexible. Too _mobile,_ going up and down as he breathed shallowly. 

He shouldn’t touch. His fingers followed the seam back, to the sides of his neck, and then all the way around to touch their opposites. Then he repeated the process in reverse. And again. 

There was just _something_ about the sensation that made him want to do it again and again and _again._

He shouldn’t. 

It hurt. Because, no, duh, having your head sewn back on after getting decapitated hurt. But the feeling of his fingers running back and forth over the stitches, over the cut, was grounding or meditative or _something._ Jazz would probably have a better word for it. 

His core made a sort of crooning sound (because his throat certainly wasn’t up to the task) deep in his chest, and a line of ectoplasm-tinted saliva escaped from his lips to run down his chin. Because excessive drooling was a side effect of healing from decapitation. Apparently. 

Well. Either that or it was blood. Or both. Anyway, he was still suppressing the ‘I was decapitated’ trauma, so the ‘why is my blood green’ existential crisis had to wait. 

Speaking of appropriate times, he was supposed to be getting ready for school. But then he’d zoned out, and... His fingers followed the bumps of the stitches around his neck again. 

Resolutely, he pulled his hands away from his neck. His core made another sound, and he rubbed his breastbone. It had been... more _vocal_ since the whole ‘beheading’ incident. Maybe it was compensating? Or maybe it was some kind of stress response, like how his fangs _still_ wouldn’t retract. Ugh. It made his gums ache on top of everything else, and he _really_ wanted to bite into something, like maybe an orange or an apple, but eating was contraindicated due to the state of his throat. 

He was getting ready for school. 

Right. 

He picked up the nice, soft bandages he’d taken out of the kit prior to getting lost in his own head, and started to unwind them. He was going to wear a turtleneck, but the cut was high up, and turtlenecks slipped. 

Even nice, soft bandages didn’t feel great against a wound like this. 

He pulled on the turtleneck, and tried not to grimace, because that, too, would move the skin on his neck. There was pressure on the cut, now, from all sides, and as he moved his head to get an idea of how much this was going to hurt, the cloth dragged across and caught on the faint bumps. This didn’t have anywhere near the same satisfying sensation as running his fingers over them. 

He sucked in a deep breath, ignoring how much _that_ action hurt, and centered himself. Facemask next. Because they were spinning everything wrong with him as ‘ghost cold, probably not contagious for anyone not ectocontaminated.’

Because the school bought stuff like that. Or, at least, didn’t want to question it and get answers. Unless he skipped and _then_ they started poking around. 

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. He’d had his head sliced off, and he was still going to school. He didn’t want to do this anymore. 

His tears were glowing. He wiped them away. 

.

“Ghost flu?” asked the secretary. 

“Just a cold,” said Jazz, her smile fixed. “It isn’t contagious, but better safe than sorry, right? Anyway, it comes with some really awful laryngitis, so he won’t be able to talk.”

The secretary shot Danny a suspicious look, then turned her gaze on Jazz, clearly calculating how likely it was that Danny (slacker) convinced Jazz (model student) to lie for him. 

She evidently judged it _un_ likely, because she sighed and nodded. “I’ll make sure his teachers know,” she said. 

“Thanks,” said Jazz. The backed out of the office. “Was that too easy?”

Danny shrugged. Honestly, yes, it was. But he’d take the win. 

.

He spoke too soon. 

The lunchtime ghost fight had left his careful bandages in tatters, and several of his stitches had been raked through by a sharp claw. It was as if the ghost had _known_ Danny’d been decapitated recently. 

He’d have to go back to the Far Frozen to get these redone. Would the turtleneck still cover them, so he could last out the day? He touched the stitches, for a moment falling back into the morning’s trance. It just felt so... _much._

The bathroom door opened, and Danny froze, staring at Dash out of the corner of his eye. 

“What,” said Dash. 

Reflexively, Danny vanished. 

Dash continued to stare. Then his eyes rolled up in his head and he tilted over backwards. Danny caught him and lowered him to the floor, slowly. 

Hopefully, he’d think he’d just hallucinated? After all, coming across the kid you beat up every day with ectoplasm oozing from his mouth and a line of stitched around his neck in the bathroom wasn’t exactly _realistic._

Or he’d think Danny was playing a prank on him. 

Danny checked Dash’s pulse. Yeah. Oh, and there were his eyes, flickering open. He’d just fainted. Right. 

Danny was just... going to go, now. He still had half a day’s worth of classes to get to. 


	52. Names

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by thenerdycupcake.

The first thing most did when they crossed over, when they stopped being _here_ and started being _there,_ when the word ‘mortal’ ceased to apply, was shed their names. 

Danny did not have that luxury. 

His name was _known,_ and it _itched._

“Daniel,” purred Vlad, draped with incongruous elegance over the arm of the stained and frayed living room couch. 

Danny twitched. “Vladimir,” he responded, not even bothering to hide his venom. 

Vlad frowned. 

This was their stand off. They each knew the other’s true name, their _full_ true name, ironically enough, from the same source: Danny’s parents. 

Thus, they had a deal. They wouldn’t use their names against one another in their disputes so long as the other didn’t first. 

That deal said nothing about using the names to annoy one another for petty purposes or posturing. Vlad had made this quite clear shortly after the inception of the deal.

“Don’t be like that, dear boy,” said Vlad. “Come, sit with me while your parents show off their latest ridiculous invention.” He sipped at his glass, the level of the blood-red liquid inside not lowering even by a hair. 

Interesting thing was, Danny’s parents weren’t bound at all by the deal. Danny suspected their inadvertent use of Vlad’s full name was responsible for Jack’s continued life. 

Among other things. 

“So,” said Danny, “how long have you been there?”

“An hour,” said Vlad, upper lip curling. “I should have known they would get distracted down there. Especially your oaf of a father.”

“You know,” said Danny. “There’s a very simple solution to this problem. One that would prevent it from ever reoccurring.”

“If my decades of research have failed to reveal-”

“Stop coming here. Seriously, it’s like you’re punishing yourself or something. They’re the only people in the world who still know your full name and use it. If you just stayed away, poof! The problem would be gone.”

“I could say the same for you, little badger,” said Vlad, swirling his glass. 

“I’m fourteen and they’re my parents.”

“With enough money and power,” said Vlad, the liquid in his glass slowly rising, as if to illustrate, “ _anything_ is possible.”

“Except getting off the couch, huh.”

The scowl on Vlad’s face could have killed small mammals. Luckily, it was too late for Danny. 

He rolled his eyes. He didn’t want Vlad stuck in his house until his parents emerged from the lab, which could be hours from now. 

“You want help?”

“What’s the price?”

“No evil plans for the next month.”

“Twenty-four hours.”

“Two weeks.”

“Two _days.”_

 _“_ The next week. Or I leave you here. Odds are even I’ll have more peace that way.”

“Oh, alright, alright. You free me from this predicament, and I’ll refrain from enacting any ‘evil plans’ for the next week.”

“Great,” said Danny, starting to walk away.

“Where are you going?” demanded Vlad.

Danny smirked over his shoulder. “To remind my parents of your existence. It’s a lot easier than trying to countermand whatever they told you to do.”

Vlad looked like he’d been bitten into a lemon. 

Danny continued to the basement door, waving over his shoulder. It _was_ a lot easier. It also meant that his parents would waste even more of Vlad’s time showing off their latest half-finished and theoretically unsound invention. 

A win-win situation. For Danny, anyway. He might not have any great skill at chess, but he could certainly use the cards dealt to him. 

“Mom, Dad?” he called down into the basement. “Vlad’s still here!”

There was a thump and a muffled _oh no._ Danny’s smile broadened, and he walked away, a spring to his step. 

A whole week, free of Vlad’s evil plans. There were so many things he could do!


	53. Chapter 53

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Made for an ask game on tumblr. Circus AU and curses for Lost Time.

Danny was clever. More than the others. He knew because Master said so. ‘More clever than you’re worth,’ he’d said. Then he’d hit him. A lot.

He was clever. So he knew the old ghost that kept time during the acts and gave astonishingly detailed and unremittingly grim assessments in the fortune teller’s tent was different than the others. Not like Lydia was different. But different anyway. He thought the other ghosts might know it, too, from the way they looked at him. Sometimes, he noticed Lydia staring at the old ghost, almost frightened. 

He tried not to notice. Tried not to be clever. He didn’t like it when Master hit him. He wanted to be good. To be helpful. He tried so, so hard. 

But he noticed anyway. 

(He noticed other things, too, like how he was always hungry, always yearning, for something, and the only solution he could come up with was be more helpful. He noticed he was growing weaker. He noticed he missed his friends. He noticed how the others looked at him with pity more than they looked at the old ghost in fear.)

And he was curious. 

(Even if curiosity had gotten him in trouble before.)

He slipped into the back of the fortune teller’s tent after the old ghost and, before he could think better of it, he reached out and tugged on the back of the fortune-teller’s tattered robe. Mistake made, he made a valiant but ultimately fruitless effort to hide himself behind one of the curtains.

The old ghost sighed. “What do you want?”

Danny had to think about it. It had been so long since anyone had asked him what he wanted. “Why,” he asked, his voice strange after days (weeks?) of disuse, “are you here?”

The ghost raised an eyebrow, the scar across his eye pulling at it oddly.

“You’re different,” explained Danny. “You’re- You don’t have to listen to what Master says. I can tell.”

The old ghost’s face twisted sourly. “Unfortunately,” he said, millennia of bitterness soaked into the word, “my own masters say that I do. They think it will help me learn humility.” He hissed, teeth bared, as he stalked past Danny. “That I will appreciate their brand of slavery more after I have experienced that of a human. They have cursed me thus, and I cannot refuse.” 

The ghost began to pace, hovering just over the floor. “If they had not taken my key... I would never have so much as set foot in this circus, to be made a curiosity for my powers.”

Danny cringed into the fabric of the tent, afraid to look at the old ghost. 

But then, an idea occurred to him. 

“I can help,” he said, turning, hopefully. 

The old ghost looked unimpressed. “You cannot even help yourself.”

“But you can,” said Danny, “and then I can help you. I can get your key for you, if you help me get away. I promise.”

“Promise, do you?” asked the ghost. He leaned in and softly touched Danny’s face. It was the gentlest contact he’d had with another being since he’d been taken. “Promises are dangerous. Especially impossible ones.”

“I promise,” said Danny. “If it’s in the Ghost Zone, I can get it.”

“How?”

Danny, hesitantly, leaned closer still to the old ghost. “I’m part human,” he whispered. Then he quickly pulled back, finger pressed to his lips. “But it’s a secret! Don’t tell... Please...”

The old ghost cocked his head, then brought his hands up to cup Danny’s face. “You are,” he said. “How interesting. I did not foresee this.”

The ghost, lost in thought, did not move, and Danny closed his eyes, leaning in to the touch. This was nice. “Will you let me help you?” he mumbled. 

“Perhaps,” said the ghost. He let go of Danny’s face, then maneuvered around Danny so that one hand rested on Danny’s shoulder, and the ghost’s robes fell around him like a protective veil. “Come. For now, help me with my divinations. Then we shall see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I turned the bitterness dial on this Clockwork all the way up. Don't worry, he softens more eventually.


	54. Chapter 54

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt: After a few excursions into the Ghost Zone, Jack and Maddie want to take Danny on a tour of what they've found. Danny, meanwhile "I know more than you"

Danny slouched in the Specter Speeder seat as Jack pulled inexpertly through the portal. They’d be a lot safer if he was driving. Or Sam or Tucker, for that matter. 

Jack simply wasn’t any good at driving, well, anything. 

Plus, Danny had more flight hours on the Speeder than anyone else. 

“Come on, Danny,” said Maddie, jostling his shoulder, “this is just like going into space. One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind. You’re only the third human to make this journey.”

“Unless you count the whole city getting sucked in,” Danny muttered, kicking the panel under the dash. 

“It doesn’t count,” said Maddie. “I’m sure many, many people have fallen into the Ghost Zone by accident over the course of history. _We_ are going in on _purpose_.”

“Uh huh.”

Maddie sighed. “Well, once you see it, it’ll be different... It’s really quite stunning. If it weren’t for the fact that it’s exclusively populated by beings of unspeakable evil.”

Danny and Jazz groaned simultaneously and loudly, just in time for the Speeder to emerge from the portal’s long tunnel. 

“We’re going to just take a quick tour. Only an hour. See the sights.”

“Did you really have to curse us with the one hour tour bit?” asked Jazz. “I’ve never even watched that show and I still know not to do that.”

“It isn’t as if this wasn’t cursed from the beginning,” said Danny, as Jack turned the speeder, inevitably, straight towards Skulker’s island. 


	55. Chapter 55

“You don’t think you maybe should have told us about this around the same time _Danny_ became a shapeshifting supernatural being?” asked Sam, picking her way over the roots of trees. 

Tucker, seeing as he was currently a rather large wolf, did not respond verbally, but merely shrugged and whined. 

“Don’t sweat it, dude,” said Danny, phasing through a tangle of branches. “I mean, I know how it is. You don’t have anything to tell us, do you, Sam? Like, you’re not an actual witch or anything, are you?”

“No,” said Sam, rolling her eyes. 

Tucker huffed, loudly. 

“Do your parents know?” asked Danny, his serious tone a departure from the vaguely amused one he’d adopted ever since Tucker had turned into a wolf on top of the ghost that had kidnapped him. 

Tucker nodded. 

“And they’re cool?”

With an air of exasperation, Tucker nodded again.

“Good,” said Danny. “That’s good, then.” Then he snickered. “You know, in retrospect we should have expected this. I mean, the meat, the sniffing, being able to understand Wulf, the fixation on the wolf cosplayer-”

Tucker nipped at Danny, and the ghost just floated higher, laughing. 

Sam sighed. At least they were having fun. 

She’d have to start looking into how to level the playing field, though. No way was she going to be the normal one in her friend group. 

... Could she get ahold of a vampire through craigslist? 


	56. Chapter 56

“Don’t worry,” said Danny, doing exactly that as he looked out over the roof of the bus he and his classmates had climbed on top of, “I’m sure my parents will get here soon.” But maybe if they _didn’t_ he could find some way to rectify the problem. 

And pet the dogs. 

Petting the dogs was a very important consideration.

See, the thing was, Cujo had located some friends of various doglike shapes and sizes. He had, naturally, chosen to introduce his new friends to the dispenser of head scratches, squeaky toys, and the occasional bone. AKA Danny. 

Problem: Danny was on a field trip when this happened. 

Result of problem: Danny’s classmates, upon seeing a pack of ‘rabid’ ghost dogs, had fled for their lives and used a sudden burst of adrenaline to scale the bus, dragging Danny with them. This, despite the fact that ghost dogs could, well, _fly._

Evidently, neither Danny’s classmates nor the ghost dogs seemed to remember this fact. Or, at least, the ghost dogs were willing to _not_ fly for the sake of whatever game they thought they were playing. 

God, they were so cute. He wanted to pet them _so badly._ Even more than that, though, he wanted them to get not-dissected by his parents. But he couldn’t _do_ anything to stop that from happening, because he was on the roof of a bus with no cover. 

Ugh, why did dogs have to be so awesome? And friendly? And playful?

Wait. 

He had an idea. The dogs were here to play, yes? 

“Hey,” he said, “do any of you have balls?”

Dead silence. 

“As in, like, for throwing.”

Paulina frowned at him. “Why,” she asked, slowly, “would we bring balls on a museum field trip? That isn’t-”

“I’ve got one!” exclaimed Dash, holding a football over his head. 

“Me too!” said Kwan, doing the same.

“Forget I said anything,” said Paulina. “Do you just carry them with you _everywhere?”_

 _“_ Yes,” said Dash. 

“Give it to me, I have an idea.”

“No way!” said Dash, clutching the football tightly against his chest, as if it were a baby Danny had just threatened to snatch. “You’ll get your nerd germs all over it!”

“You don’t actually think those are a thing, do you?” asked Mikey. “I mean, you should probably leave the bullying bit for when we aren’t about to be eaten.”

“Kwan,” said Danny. “May I please have you football so that I can keep us from being overrun by the giant pack of ghost dogs?”

“Sure!” said Kwan, handing it over. 

Danny turned and launched the football. He and his four classmates watched it soar upwards. And upwards. And upwards. 

“Oh my god,” said Dash. “How did Fentwig throw _that_?”

Danny, now that the ghost dogs were all chasing the still-ascending football, realized the flaw in his plan. That is, that normal, human him could never have pulled it off. 

The football began to fall. 

“Ghost steroids,” he said. 

Kwan gasped. “Are those _legal?”_


	57. Memories

“I don’t remember that,” said Danny. “Are you sure I was there?”

Maddie raised her eyebrows. “I talked to you about it just last week,” she said. “When I was asking you about what you’d like to do during summer vacation.”

“I remember _that,”_ said Danny, uncurling slightly from his position on the couch. “I just don’t remember the other thing. I... maybe we talked about something like it. When was it?”

“You were twelve,” said Maddie. “It was just before your birthday.”

Slowly, he shook his head. “Sorry,” he said. “I remember, um... What other vacations did we have? Before the one where you thought I was crazy, it was, um...” He held his hands as if preparing to count on them. “We went to New York that one time. And then the Great Lakes before that... Oh! And that haunted house road trip.”

He frowned down at his hands, and Maddie felt something unpleasant curl in her gut. 

“Is that... All you remember?” she asked. 

“Y-Yeah? I guess the others were from when I was too young to remember?”

“The haunted house trip was when you were _five,”_ said Maddie. “Danny... have you been,” she didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to piece together other little oddities into a big picture, “have you been forgetting things?”

“No!” said Danny, defensively, sitting up straighter. “I’m just...” He chewed his lip. “It isn’t as if I’ve forgotten anything _recent.”_

His abysmal grades and missed curfews begged to differ.

“One second,” said Maddie. “Stay here.”

She went to her room and fetched one of her largest photo albums. Danny was still on the couch when she came back, picking at the hem of his pant leg, and staring blankly at the floor. Maddie sat next to him, making him jump. She opened the album to a random page. 

“What were we doing here?” she asked. 

“Um,” said Danny, brows pinching together in confusion. “Shopping?”

“For?” prompted Maddie. 

Danny shook his head. “It’s just shopping. It isn’t important.”

“Danny, this is from when we got you that model spaceship. The one you have hanging up in your room.”

Danny blinked, and slowly shook his head. 

.

The doctor’s office looked clean. It even smelled clean. Danny was still doing his level best not to touch anything. Maddie would have sighed at his behavior, but she was too tense. She met Jack’s eye. He looked terrible too.

“There are no signs of Alzheimer’s disease,” said the doctor. All three of them sighed with relief. “However... You said the other symptoms, the difficulty in school, began after the electrical accident?”

“Yeah,” said Danny. 

The doctor nodded. “Electricity can do strange things to the brain, sometimes. We haven’t been able to find any structural damage, but the activity levels...” He brought a colored image up on his computer screen. “This is where long-term memory is stored,” he said. 

“Doesn’t red usually indicate high levels of activity?” asked Jack.

“It does,” said the doctor. “This is actually _higher_ than usual activity... Honestly, I don’t know what’s going on here. I would like to request that you make a record of things that you currently remember as happening in your life, and then come back a month from now.”

“That’s it?” demanded Maddie. 

“Right now, since we don’t know what’s causing this,” said the doctor, “the best we can do is monitor the situation. We don’t even know if this is an ongoing deterioration, or something more gradual. On the upside, other than long-term memory, there doesn’t appear to be any damage. Your timeline _after_ your accident is clear and detailed. The cognitive tests we put you through actually put you significantly _above_ average... This is what we can do.”

Maddie didn’t like it. Danny didn’t look surprised. Or even particularly upset. 

She caught Jack’s eye again. They would have to be ready to support him, when the extent of what he had lost fully hit him. 

.

Danny floated down the icy hallway next to Frostbite. “This isn’t going to be one of those examinations where I have to get undressed, is it?” he asked. 

Frostbite chuckled, but there was an undercurrent to it that usually wasn’t present. “Only halfway.” He paused to tap Danny on the chest. “Your mind is no longer entirely contained in your head, after all.”

Danny rubbed at where Frostbite had tapped him. “You don’t think that has anything to do with it, do you?”

“I’m unsure,” said Frostbite as they reached the examination room. “It isn’t unusual for ghosts to lose their memories of their lives, but that is both more immediate and more complete. Sit down here, and take your shirt off, Great One, and we can begin.”

Danny made a face at the item that looked like an overly complicated dentist’s chair with a large metal disk embedded in the back, but obeyed. 

“Here we are,” said Frostbite, pulling a complicated ring-shaped thing from the chair. “This part goes around your head,” he said adjusting it to fit. 

Despite his cold core, Danny shivered at the frigidity of the metal. 

“These are to monitor your core, along with the matching one built into the chair,” said Frostbite as he attached several flat disks to Danny’s chest. 

“Are they, like, ultrasound?” asked Danny, running his finger along the edge of one of them. He didn’t like how they stuck to his skin. 

“They work on a similar principle,” said Frostbite. He turned on several nearby monitors. “With this, we will be able to see how your brain and core react in tandem. Can you transform for me a few times? I want to compare with the baseline readings we took from you when you first stayed with us.”

“Sure,” said Danny. 

.

“Alright,” said Frostbite. “Now, I am going to try sending a few low-intensity ectoplasmic pulses and currents through you. Is that alright?”

“Sure,” said Danny. 

The first few left Danny feeling lethargic and tingly. Other gave him so much energy he had to leave the room for a few minutes to burn some of it off. Another, interestingly, turned off his ghost half, not unlike the Plasmius Maximus.

There was a rest period in-between each test, to make sure that they weren’t mixing results. During those times, Danny and Frostbite would laugh and tell jokes and...

... Danny trailed off in the middle of a sentence. “Frostbite?” he asked after a minute. “What was I just saying?”

.

“I want to stress that this is currently just a theory, Great One,” said Frostbite. 

“It’s okay,” said Danny. “Just... What is it?”

“Your memories are recorded in both your brain and your core. You know this, correct?”

“Yeah. You told me that a while back.”

Frostbite nodded. “Normally, if one is turned off, the other one is still recording memories, and the memories will be transcribed.”

Danny nodded. 

“Or, if they are disconnected, in the case of the Plasmius Maximus, or your parents’ ‘Ghost Catcher,’ they will swap memories. However...”

“Yes?”

“It is my theory that certain kinds of _discrepancies_ between memories can lead to your core deciding that the discrepancy is an error and attempting to remedy it. Great One, your core did not exist prior to your accident.”

“So, it thinks my memories from before that are wrong, and it’s getting rid of them.”

“I’m afraid it may be so.”

“Can you stop it? I mean, you were able to artificially induce it, earlier...”

Frostbite made a face. “The only things I can think of that could stop this would be unhealthy in the long run. I do not believe you want to try to split yourself in two again.”

“No,” agreed Danny. “Any-Anything else?”

Frostbite sighed. “This is not something I can confirm,” he said, “but I suspect that the reason for your odd pattern of your memory loss is that the memories you dwelled on most often vanished first.”

“Oh,” said Danny. “Because that would bring them to my core’s attention...”

Frostbite nodded. 

“Well. That’s... not ideal.”

“I’m sorry, Great One. Would that I could do more.”

.

“It’s all gone,” he said, without preamble, as he stood at Jazz’s door first thing in the morning. 

She looked crushed. “Are you sure?”

Danny nodded. “I remember remembering, but I don’t actually remember. It’s weird and... actually kind of a relief,” he said, tilting his head to one side. 

Jazz blinked rapidly. “Are you going to tell Mom and Dad?”

He shook his head. As his memories had disappeared, so had most of his remaining trust in his parents. Between the memories of them caring for him, and the memories of them attacking or threatening him, the latter were more vivid. 

He still loved them, and his ghostly desires, that he literally could not remember living without, still focused on them, but that and trust were two different things. It had been months since he’d started to fake retaining memories that he only knew about from reading his journals. 

“Sam and Tucker?”

This time, Danny nodded, the gesture much more enthusiastic. “We were going to meet up later today, anyway. Do you want to come with us?”

“Sure,” said Jazz. She rubbed at her eyes. “Give me a second.”

Danny nodded. He wasn’t in a hurry. “I’ll be downstairs.”

He could understand the grief. He had felt it. But it was over, now. The only thing left was to make new memories. 


	58. Broken Tile

Frost sparkled on the pan, catching the overhead lights in the kitchen. 

“How...” breathed Jack, eyes as wide and round as tennis balls. 

Just as frozen as the pan was Danny, who had, reflexively, tried to catch the pan when Jack knocked it off the stove and, just as reflexively, frozen it when it proved to be burning hot. He wasn’t even breathing. 

He flinched when Jack put the end of the ecto-pistol against his forehead. 

“What have you done with my son, spook?” he demanded, voice colder than any ice Danny could summon. 

“I- I _am_ your son. Please, Dad-” He broke off as Jack twitched. One of the tiles under his feet creaked, Danny’s temperature plummeting as his fear rose.

“You,” said Jack, “what are-” A sharp crack split the air, and both Danny and Jack reacted, Jack firing and Danny phasing through the floor. 

He would not stop running until he reached Vlad’s house. 

In his wake, he left only a broken tile, cracked by ice. 


	59. Chapter 59

.

“Fenton, correct?” you ask. You’re a long-term sub. Ms. Tetslaff unexpectedly had to have major surgery, and won’t be returning to teach for months. 

“That’s me,” said the boy, rubbing the back of his neck and grinning just enough for you to see that, yes, those are vampire fangs.

“You’re going to need to take those out,” you say. 

“Take what out?” he asked, blinking blankly, and do his eyes-? No, that’s a trick of the light. 

“The vampire teeth,” you respond. “They’re a safety hazard. You could swallow them.”

“I’m not wearing vampire teeth. These are my normal teeth. They’re just weird.” To demonstrate, he pulled back his lips with his fingers, showing you the gums. Sure enough, there are not seams or edges that you can see. 

“Huh,” you say. “Never mind then.”

.

“It’s the parents,” they said. “I heard they experimented on him. They only needed one to carry on their work, you see.”

This might have made sense, except that you’ve met Jazz Fenton, and she’d somehow managed to make her position on her parents’ research, her career aspirations, and her opinions on the city’s six most popular restaurants clear within your first five minutes of conversing with her. Which is actually kind of weird by itself. 

Either way, you don’t think she’ll be carrying on her parents work any time soon. 

You thank the vendor and pay for your sandwich, periodically glancing the way Danny Fenton went. 

.

“He glows, you know,” said the teenager. She knows you’re not from town. You don’t know how. She doesn’t go to the school you work at. “In the dark.”

“I’ve never seen him in the dark,” you say, but you have seen how he catches the eye. 

Until he doesn’t. 

“We have,” said the girl, nodding at her coworkers behind the counter. “He comes at night, sometimes.”

“Is it body paint?” you ask, even though you know the girl can’t know, and wouldn’t bring it up if she thought the solution was so mundane. 

“No,” she said. “Weston thinks he’s dead. Wesley, I mean. Not the one that works here.”

You’re already hopelessly lost when it comes to the Weston brothers, but you file the information away nonetheless. It could be useful.

“If people really think he’s dead,” you say, “shouldn’t his parents be told?”

The girl snorted. “Have fun with that.”

.

Something burned green on the road. You cover your nose with the back of your hand. You see Danny Fenton standing on the other side. His eyes reflected the green light. 

“He’s like a cat,” whispered someone behind you. 

.

Two students spoke in whispers in the hallway outside your temporary office. 

“He’s a vampire. That’s the only explanation.”

“No, he’s not. He can walk around in the sun.”

“That’s actually a recent addition to the myth-”

You get up and close the door. 

.

“I heard him purring.”

You don’t know how much more of this you can take. You’re hoping Ms. Testslaff comes back soon, so you can stop coming here. 

“What, is he a cat, now?”

“I don’t know, _maybe._ You’re just going to whip out the werewolf theory again, aren’t you.”

“Better than were _cat.”_

.

“Alien?”

“Would explain why he’s so obsessed with astronomy.”

Your fellow teachers are in on it, even. You pinch the bridge of your nose. And contemplate the ancient coffee machine. It is worth it, you wonder. 

“I think it’s more likely he has undiagnosed autism,” said the blessedly sane Mr. Lancer. “Or ADHD. Have any of you heard from the our SpEd team recently? I swear, they’re dodging my calls.”

“If they had the potential to force me to be alone in a room with Danny Fenton,” said one of the others, “I’d probably dodge your calls, too. I can’t believe you still have the guts to give him detention.”

“There’s something wrong with that boy,” agreed the other.

Mr. Lacer glared down his nose at them. “There’s something wrong with _you._ Are you teachers or not?” He looked at you, as if to compel you to comment, to weigh in on either side. 

You shrug. You know you should agree with Lancer, but, well. 

You don’t want to be alone in a room with Danny Fenton, either. 

.

“Maybe he was _abducted_ by aliens.”

“Hm. Possible.”

You haven’t seen Mr. Lancer in the break room for a week. 

.

“My little sister saw him walk through a wall, once.”

“Do you think that counts more towards ghost, mutant, or vampire?”

“I don’t know. Let’s ask the teacher.”

You pretend not to hear them. 

“Let’s just put a mark in each column.”

.

You’re leaving. Finally. 

You sigh as you pack the last of your supplies into your car and lean against the door, staring up into the flat blue sky. 

Something silver, black, and tan streaks across it. 

You could swear it was Danny Fenton. 


End file.
